Purely Physical
by burgundyred
Summary: “Granger,” he’d said clearly. “I have a proposition.” She looked up at him, steely silver eyes boring into her. She trembled. "What do you say we embark on a physical relationship...purely physical." DMHG-sex-fic-with-twists!
1. Prologue

Purely Physical 

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you originally saw in the books. I came up with this idea by myself—I'm not sure if it's been done before so if it has, sorry! 

Summary: DracoHermione Their relationship is purely physical. They make love but never fall in love. However, Hermione doesn't realize her feelings are changing…

Hermione sat in the library with a random book cracked open in front of her as she waited for him to show up. She glanced at the time—11:43 p.m. He would be here soon. Letting out a sigh, Hermione closed the book and put her head down on the desk. She hated herself for doing this—every time she did it, the guilt was unbearable—but she couldn't stop. She just couldn't stop. She smiled wistfully as she remembered how it had all started. How this stupid physical relationship with Draco had started.

It had been in that detention, one of the few detentions that littered Hermione's beautiful record as she grew up through Hogwarts. The only detention of Hermione's seventh year so far. And the cause of it? A stupid fight with Malfoy.

It had started in the usual way, with him flicking something at Ron, who had immediately retaliated. Harry and Hermione had tried to hold him back, but Malfoy chose to insult Hermione at that very moment ( "Mud blood!"). She had warned her best friends that they better not interfere—that she would deal with the ferret all alone, and so she had.

She'd taken her wand and hexed him into remorse, until Professor McGonagall had intervened and two consecutive nights of detention for the both of them had been the result. She could still hear the Professor's screech. "You will clean out my desk and papers, no wands!"

Technically, Hermione thought, it was all Professor McGonagall's fault. If she hadn't issued the detention, then what had happened would never have happened.

In the first detention, Hermione remembered that she had been sorting through the essays when she caught Draco looking at her. To her surprise, it hadn't been a look of hatred—it was more of a quizzical look. His gray eyes had been so intense that Hermione felt herself drawn to him—she looked right back at him, almost quivering under his stony glare, until he had moved closer to her, and the next thing she knew, her mouth was working of its own accord as he probed his tongue deeper inside its crevices…

She had pulled away the minute her mind had stopped exploring newfound pleasures and realized exactly who she was kissing. Words were not needed to make the situation awkward. They had simply returned to their task. 

But as the hour progressed, Hermione could not concentrate on anything but the kiss and his intense stare. She had only kissed one person before this—Viktor Krum, and there hadn't been a fiery blaze of passion and _lust_ when that had happened.

She didn't like it much, but she wanted him to kiss her again. Occasionally, she recalled what a bloody bastard he was, but at the moment, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She looked over to him and found that he was looking at her again. In one swift movement, they were closer to each other and suddenly his hands were exploring regions she had never let anyone touch. 

They did not go any further that night. But Hermione could still feel his touch even after she was alone in her bed. She had closed her eyes, hoping that it would go away--this lust for Malfoy. But it never did. She wanted him. Oh, she craved him.

The next night of detention had been much the same. It was in almost complete silence, but the tension was heavy and thick. Her head felt heavy and she wanted to know if last night's events would be repeated. This time, it happened when she was picking up a paper from the floor. He had reached for the same one, and she saw him looking at her again, the exact way he had the night before. Once more their mouths met hungrily, and this time, the boundaries of house, blood, and friendship did not create the needed barrier…

In just a few minutes, their clothes lay discarded on the floor and their breath was fast and ragged. Her heartbeat intensified; she could not think of anything but the situation. She wanted him, needed him, and here he was…she could not walk away.

As he moved closer, the first words of the night were spoken. "I'm still a virgin," she whispered. Why she did not object to this, she didn't know. Why she had let _him_ of all people take her virginity, she didn't know.

Hermione shuddered as she recalled how painful it had been. But he had been so gentle about it, so kind, that it was as if he wasn't Draco Malfoy after all but someone else altogether.

Hermione was brought out of her reverie when she heard a deep, familiar voice. "Hey," he was saying.

She looked up. "Hey," she whispered.

He leaned in to kiss her, and once again Hermione was lost in oblivion, cursing herself and moaning at the same time.

As his hands worked magic upon her robe, she closed her eyes, knowing that this was why she did it. The feeling was too much. It felt so good, and Hermione was addicted. 

A/N: It was very short, I know. I'm not sure if I'm going to continue it or not; I think it could work as a one-shot or as a full-length story. Feedback/ reviews would be much appreciated. This was inspired by one verse of "I hate everything about you" by 3 days grace and a song by Christina Aguilera.


	2. Fleshy Flashbacks

Purely Physical Chapter 1

The day bloomed gray and doleful as Hermione gracefully slid from the sheets of her comfortable bed. She shivered as the morning's cold fingers enveloped her and quickly slipped on her bathrobe and padded her way to the bathroom. The other girls were still asleep; Hermione was an early riser. After splashing cool water on her face, Hermione entered the shower, trying to think of anything but last night.

But it had been the same as always. Nothing had changed. She was still doing this stupid, morally wrong thing and she couldn't stop. Hermione's salty tears blended in with the cold drops of the water splashing against the old shower stall and her heaves blocked out by the noise. She wiped her face, slowly, taking time to ease away any signs of her blotchy nose and bloodshot eyes. Nobody could see her cry; she had to be strong. She'd brought herself into the predicament and she had to live with the consequences.

She wanted to break it off so badly. It wasn't as if she was concerned about his _feelings_ or anything; as far as she knew, the boy didn't have any. But she couldn't break it off. She couldn't be strong and stop; her body was like a dam, bursting with energy every time she achieved forbidden pleasure with him.

Hermione realized that she had spent over twenty minutes in the shower, absorbed in her painful thoughts, and quickly turned it off and got dressed. By this time, the others were beginning to rise, and she was soon greeted by a sleepy Parvati. 

"Good morning, Hermione," Parvati said, yawning as she made her way to the shower.

Hermione nodded. "Good morning," she said softly. 

Hermione hurried down to the common room and whipped out her Transfiguration textbook. Damn him, she thought angrily, as fresh tears threatened to spill, he's even distracted me from my studies…and it was true. Hermione's addiction was so strong that she even put her homework behind pleasure. It was always pleasure, pleasure, pleasure, that special feeling that she could not get enough of…

"Blimey, Mione, what's gotten into you?" Her steady stream of depressing thoughts was broken by Ron's nasally voice.

She turned and gave him and Harry, who was standing next to him, a wane smile. "Oh, I forgot that I hadn't finish my essay for McGonagall…" she said vaguely.

Harry laughed. "It just goes to show that you're not perfect," he teased. "Are you coming down to breakfast?"

Hermione nodded. "I'll be down in a minute," she promised. "I just have to finish this up."

Hurriedly she scribbled down some nonsense that her brain recalled from McGonagall's lecture and stumbled off after the boys. By the time she reached, an animated conversation about Quidditch was taking place, and almost every boy at the Gryffindor table was participating.

"No!" Ron was saying heatedly. "The Chudley Cannons are so much better than that bloody bunch of gits that you call a team…" 

Seamus Finnegan looked outraged. "How can you say that?" he roared. Hermione smiled to herself and tuned them out, turning to the placid Harry as he observed the chaos at the table.

"Bit early to be losing your voice, isn't it, Ron?" Hermione commented lightly. 

Harry laughed. "They've been at it for a good ten minutes now," he said as he buttered a toast. Hermione smiled warmly at him as she took a seat next to him. A sudden, overwhelming feeling of compassion passed through her—if anyone cared about her, Ron (well, maybe not at this moment…he seemed a little busy) and Harry certainly did.

"Oh, Harry," she said softly as she pulled her bewildered friend into a hug. 

As they backed away, Harry shot her a puzzled look. "What was that for?" he asked.

"I don't know," she replied truthfully. "I'm just really thankful that you're…here for me," she croaked out. To her horror, her eyes began to swim in the fresh flood of water that had swiftly appeared over them. 

"Hey, Hermione," Harry said softly. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Oh, nothing," she bluffed. "Just…overly emotional."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Girls," he said playfully.

Hermione slowly made her way to Arithmancy, the only class she had with Draco Malfoy apart from the days of Double Potions. Lately she had grown to hate her favorite class; she could never keep her mind off the blasted Draco. All she did these days, she thought dolefully, was think about him. And that was when she wasn't having sex with him.

He was there, sitting in the back row as usual, the silvery blonde hair falling into his eyes. Hermione quickly turned her gaze away from him. She hated thinking about him. Wasn't it enough that she slept with the devil? Now he controlled her thoughts as well! Hermione knew she hated him, of course, but she was deliriously in love with his body. And that was what always occupied her thoughts.

Arithmancy, which had once captivated her, now dulled her to tears as she listened to the professor drone on and on about some formula or the other. Instead, she studied Draco. Draco looked like the perfect student, his head tilted attentively towards the professor and his quill at an angle that was perfect for jotting notes. 

He looks rather like me, Hermione mused to herself. She knew perfectly well that this was her reputation; the student that was never distracted, the one who always knew the answer…and here she was, daydreaming and watching Draco. Draco, known for playing the fool and womanizing, known for his devilishly handsome looks and his harsh attitude to all things surrounding love and romance, known for his Death Eater father and his reluctance to become one himself…he was the one taking notes. He was the one with perfection.

Without really concentrating on what she was doing, Hermione picked up her quill and began to absentmindedly sketch on her notebook. When she finally realized what it was she was drawing, she hastily put the quill down and tried to tune into the lecture. Tried to not think about what she had just drawn…a sketch of his face, his silvery blonde hair falling into silver eyes…eyes full of malice and hate. The Boy-Who-Did-Not-Love.

Love. Lately Hermione had found herself fascinated by it, she thought gloomily as Arithmancy let out. One day, she wanted to be in love. But in order to be in love, one did not have simple sex-affairs with bad boys from Slytherin! Sighing, she made her way down to Double Potions. To her surprise, Draco caught up with her.

"Granger," he said by way of greeting as he strode up next to her, his pace matching hers perfectly.

She turned, slowly taking in all of the grace that was him. There was no denying it, his body was close to perfection. And she was the one who enjoyed it most. "Hello," she said distractedly.

"What…surprised to talk to me?" he asked nonchalantly. In truth, she really was. They weren't much for conversation; they had simply morphed from enemies to sexual buddies. Talking wasn't a necessity.

"Actually, yes," she replied honestly, with deliberation. "Why this sudden urge to talk to me, Draco?" She let his name run off her tongue like a waterfall. She was sick of calling him Malfoy…she slept with him on a regular basis and she hadn't said his first name. Oh well, she thought angrily, better late than never.

"I don't know," he said seriously. "I guess…after, you know…we might as well become acquaintances."

She nodded, taking in the fact that talking about it did not make him in the least uncomfortable. "True," she said. It also helped slightly in her moral dilemma. It was better to be acquaintances with a sex-buddy than enemies, she thought dolefully. 

The conversation ended abruptly as they made their way into the dungeons. Hermione took off in the direction of Harry and Ron and Draco made his way to his fellow Slytherins, namely Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle.

Hermione sighed. Why was it that they could bond physically but never emotionally?

A/N: Well, yes, I decided to continue it. Thanks to all that reviewed, you really shaped my ideas for this fic. I hope that you will continue to review because I need the motivation! I will update as soon as I can, but until then…reviews greatly appreciated. Also to those of you that asked, the song by Christina Aguilera is "Get Mine, Get Yours". The verse of "I Hate Everything About You" is below:

_Every roommate kept awake_

_By every sigh and scream we make_

_All the feelings that I get_

_But I still don't miss you yet_

Well, what did you think?


	3. Second Thoughts

Purely Physical 3

Hermione took her notes attentively during History of Magic, capturing on paper almost every word that the Professor said. Her hand throbbed and she took a break to massage her neck, looking around the room. All around her, students were practicing various forms of entertainment. Some kept their eyes open, but they were so glazed over it was obvious that they were not paying attention. Others, such as Seamus, had thrown caution to the winds and had outright dropped their head on the desk. Neville was playing with his quill and Harry was observing his elbow with much interest. Parvati was doodling phallic images on her notes and Lavender was giggling.

Hermione couldn't help it; her mind began to wander as well. And of course, the only thing she thought of when she was bored was this whole alter-ego thing that she was suddenly living out. When she was younger, she'd always had a secret fantasy to be a vixen, a beautiful girl that was cold and distant but every man would love her anyway. As she had aged, the fantasy had died out, but Hermione felt that her current situation was dangerously close.

She remembered when he'd first come up with the proposition. It had been three days after the second detention, and Hermione had been nervous when he'd first made his way to her in the nearly empty library.

"Granger," he'd said clearly. "I have a proposition." She looked up at him, and saw steely silver eyes that she felt were boring into her soul. She trembled, waiting for him to continue. To be honest, she was a little scared of him, although she did make very good effort to not show it—and so far, she thought, she was doing a beautiful job. Finally he spoke again. "What do you say we embark on a…shall we say…_physical_ relationship." She'd stared at him for a moment, before he continued. "And nothing more."

At the time, she'd had no inclination to do it. It was only going to create one hell of a mess, but she hadn't been able to stop herself from thinking about the immense pleasure she'd experienced, the smoothness of his ivory skin, the way his silver eyes looked in moments of pleasure…

And of course, being the bloody idiot she was, she'd accepted. "I…don't know," she had told him, but they both knew that the subliminal message had been a definite yes.

"Meet me at ten tonight at the Astronomy Tower, and we'll find out," he had said, walking away with a small smirk on his face.

Hermione snapped herself out of her reverie, worried that she had missed important notes in History of Magic. As she looked around, she was relieved to find that every other student was still occupied with their vegetation. Professor Binns was still droning on about Gorblig the Great and his defeat of the goblins in 1834, and the bird outside the window was still humming a soft tune.

After what seemed ages, class was over and the students nearly stampeded their way into the Great Hall for lunch. "Gods," Ron declared angrily as he stomped down to the hall, "That class is so boring I want to hex myself." 

Hermione giggled, thinking of a familiar Muggle saying. "You mean shoot yourself, huh?" she asked.

Ron gave her a blank stare. "What?"

"Never mind," Harry interjected. Hermione noticed he was looking a little downcast, and apparently, Ron did too.

"What's the matter, Harry?" he asked concernedly.

"Oh…Quidditch," Harry replied forlornly. "It's just that I've been playing rather terribly for the last two practices."

Hermione sighed. "Harry, if it's still bothering you…" Harry had recently been turned down by a girl he'd fancied, and he'd only confided in Ron and Hermione. The girl had been from Hufflepuff, a quiet, mousy girl, and Hermione was quite surprised that she would turn down Harry Potter. It was quite a shock.

"It's not," he said, a little too quickly, arousing Hermione's suspicion. Nevertheless, she gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"Good," she said curtly, trying to change the topic. Ron nodded.

"Yeah, mate, she's not worth it. Think of the food you're about to eat!" The trio laughed at Ron's comment, and Hermione felt a fuzzy, warm feeling wash over her. It was so good to be with friends sometimes. 

Almost immediately, the good feeling washed away when she noticed the Slytherin table and the arrogant, blonde-haired, gorgeous prat that sat there. He was deep in discussion with his supposed best friend, Blaise Zabini. 

Blaise's eyes narrowed when he saw Hermione, and Hermione gave an involuntary shudder. Suppose Draco had told him? But he wouldn't do that, Hermione reasoned slowly. He had been the one to initiate it, to set down the rules. And the number one rule was don't tell a soul. 

So then why was Blaise looking at her like that? She shrugged it off—after all, Blaise was a Slytherin and Slytherins hated all Gryffindors, which definitely included her. And Blaise was also known for hating muggle-born witches. 

Blowing it off, Hermione sat down at their table and tuned into the latest gossip. Over the years, Ginny Weasley had grown on Hermione—to a point where Hermione could consider her a very, very good friend. And it was lovely to have a girl to discuss things with.

"Hermione, have you heard?" Ginny shrieked as Hermione sat down. Hermione shook her head and gave her friend a small smile. Ginny was always on top of social activity at Hogwarts.

"Hannah Abbot and Justin Finch-Fletchley broke up," Ginny explained, her eyes wide. Surprised, Hermione glanced at the Hufflepuff table; Justin wasn't present and Hannah was hastily wiping her eyes with a napkin.

"It's about time they did," Ron declared darkly, helping himself to mashed potatoes. "I mean, Justin does have problems being committed."

Ginny nodded and Hermione listened, eyes wide. "Yeah. Apparently he was sleeping around with Susan Bones on the side," Ginny said.

"Really?" Hermione asked, surprised. Justin hadn't really struck her as the kind of boy that would do something like that. 

"Oh, that's nothing," Ginny said lightly. "Some of the things people do…but you do know who has the most commitment-phobia at this school, don't you?"

Hermione shook her head, but she had a very good idea of who that might be. "The Prat of the Slytherins, of course," Ginny continued. "Well, they're all prats but he's the biggest git of the lot, don't you think?"

Hermione nodded as guilt seeped into her one more time. "Yes, of course, it's Dr—Malfoy after all."

"Malfoy's currently 'dating' Parkinson, as he puts it. But everyone knows that Parkinson's probably the only one who doesn't get any action from him," Ginny commented as she buttered her toast.

Harry laughed and Hermione was surprised to see how many people were following the conversation. But what Ginny said really unnerved her. Here she was, submissive towards the one boy that played almost every girl. Of course, she didn't love—hell, she didn't even like him, but…she had at least thought she was the only one to have the pleasure, or punishment, depending on how you looked at it (his body was awfully addicting) of sleeping with him.

"So you think he's sleeping around with lots of people?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"I'm sure he is," Ginny replied scathingly. "He seems the type, doesn't he? And while I do admit he is one of the better looking boys at Hogwarts…" She trailed off as she looked at her brother, who was turning redder by the second. "Oh, Ron, don't choke, honestly, you may not notice but girls practically fawn over him…I would too if he wasn't such a bloody idiot…and he does take advantage of girls, Hermione." 

Hermione lost everything that resembled an appetite. Well, she reasoned with herself, Draco was taking advantage of her, she knew that the relationship was completely commitment-free, and it wasn't even as if she wanted a romantic relationship with him, but…she wanted to be the only girl that he met in the Astronomy Tower or the library approximately once a week.

"I'm sure he does."

Slipping out of her seat, she told her friends that she had to finish up some homework and went off to the library, so it didn't look suspicious, letting the information sink in. Well, she'd always known that he wasn't the type to be faithful to one girl…he wasn't in the least romantic. Hermione was. Sometimes she yearned to have someone that would treat her to expensive dinners by candlelight and buy her red roses. 

That Hermione would soon be extinguished by the more practical Hermione, the Hermione who knew that this wasn't going to happen anytime soon and that small fancies would go unnoticed by the boy of her affections.

Currently, she wasn't fancying any boy, but coupled with her physical relationship with Draco, she was feeling more and more like a whore. And in all honesty, she was a whore. And so was he. That's what we have in common, Hermione thought bitterly. We're both whores.

She sat down at her favorite table in the library. It was the second most secluded area of the library, and often where she and Draco did the deed, so to speak. Pulling out one of her leisure books, she absent mindedly began to flip the pages, trying to concentrate but finding her mind wandering to abysmal things such as who-was-dating-who, and more significantly, who-was-sleeping-with-who. 

Suddenly she heard movement and looked up. Draco was standing there, looking as handsome as ever with blonde hair falling onto his pale forehead and his silver eyes once again reading her every thought. He smirked his traditional smirk when he saw her looking at him.

"Hello, there," he said, flashing her a quick glance of whitish teeth.

"Hi," she said nervously. "Look, I really don't have time to, you know…" she couldn't bring herself to say it. Every time she thought about it, she felt dirty and whorish, imagine what saying it would mean.

He laughed. "Don't worry, that's not why I'm here. Like I said the other day. Acquaintances. Although I hate to admit it, it's slightly disturbing sleeping with you and not knowing anything about you except that you are best friends with the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Pain-In-My-Arse."

Hermione smiled weakly. She hated it when he insulted Harry or Ron, but she didn't know any other way to stop it than hexing him or slapping him. Both of which were a little too immature for the three-quarters-of-the-way-through-seventh-year that she had become. "Don't," she finally told him. "Just drop it."

He shrugged. "Whatever, then…so, what're you reading?"

"Just a book," she said, showing the title to him.

"_Weird and Wonderful Enchantments_?" he asked, taking the book from her hands. Flipping through it, he declared, "Well, it does seem rather entertaining. I wouldn't mind making excessive amounts of hair grow out of Parkinson's ears."

In spite of herself, Hermione snorted. "I thought you were dating her."

"Oh, no, that's what they say, but in reality, she really isn't my type."

Hermione laughed. "All right then," she said.

The silence between them grew awkward, and Hermione realized that she was at a loss for words. She could no longer insult him, but she didn't really want to befriend him either, because it would ruin the strictly physical relationship they carried out.

Apparently he felt it too. "Well," he said, after a few minutes. "How's day after tomorrow in the Astronomy Tower, say, eleven?"

She nodded, berating herself mentally. "Okay," she said. Staring at him as his grey coat swished to match his fast pace. She vaguely wondered how many girls he'd initiated a physical relationship with. What if she wasn't the only one?

A/N: Well, my longest chapter so far for the story. Please give it a review, that would be really nice, I don't have very many for it. Oh, and also, if you are reading any of my other fics, just wanted to let you know that midterms are coming up in a bit and I can't update till they're over, simply because I have just got to buckle down and study. Um, let's see, my midterms end on December 17th, I might update one of my stories this weekend but after that don't expect anything till the 17th or 18th. Thanks!


	4. Setting of the Scene

Purely Physical 4

A/N: I sincerely apologize for the month long wait. Not to mention that I have school again starting tomorrow…so I knew I had to update. Anyhow, keep in mind that this will be a shorter fic than my others and all (I pretty much have it plotted out) so while updates will be infrequent, the chapters will be more eventful.

It was 10:43 p.m., and in seventeen minutes, she was supposed to go and meet Draco in the astronomy tower. But she'd been doing a lot of thinking, and where she craved his touch…she had self-control, didn't she? She could live without him; it had only been recently where she'd considered him someone beneath her notice…and now he was an addiction?

Hermione cleared her thoughts, debating on whether to go or not. What if she stood him up? What would he do? Perhaps he had other means of satisfaction. She'd suspected she wasn't even the only girl he'd initiated a purely physical relationship with. Briefly she wondered if it would be painful to find out that she wasn't. What did it mean, anyway? It wasn't as if she cared about him. Hell she didn't even like him.

She thought miserably of the last few times. Sure, it was an hour of physical bliss, but after that…the consequences. Her life had been absolutely miserable. She kept dwelling on it, and it was like having this secret side to her…she looked like a perfect, model student, best friends with two righteous young men, conservative, virginal…and then on the other side, she was a whore, sharing her body quite willingly with the enemy of all people.

In a quick decision she trudged up to the Astronomy Tower at 11:10, carefully waiting ten minutes so it wouldn't look like she was anxious or anything to get there. When she arrived, wearing as usual her school robes and not much else (she wasn't a firm believer in make-up or perfumes) he was there, scribbling away on a piece of parchment. 

Draco Malfoy nodded in her direction as a way of greeting and she gave him a watery smile. She had to stop this—now. No more. She had to end it. Just as she was about to open her mouth to tell him so, he began to speak.

"I appreciate this."

"Appreciate?" she asked, surprised, and completely caught off-guard.

He gave her a small, trademark smirk, but one that didn't hold half the malice that they usually did. "Yeah. I mean, look at you. You're a role model…you're the Head Girl, top of the class, and so…bloody…conservative." He grinned wolfishly. "And look at what you do behind the scenes."

"Stop it!" she cried shrilly. This was exactly what she had been thinking about. This could not go on. "I don't think we should do this anymore," she said in one breath, trying to act cool and collected but coming off as flustered and unsure of her hasty decision.

"Your mind doesn't think we should," he said as he advanced towards her. "But the rest of you…thinks differently."

His mouth crushed hers and inadvertently she found herself responding. For a few seconds she was lost in the sheer pleasure until her mind automatically zoomed back into focus and she pushed him away. "No," she said breathlessly. "No."

"No?"

"I can't. Look, I don't know how many girls you do this with, but…me…I—"

He cut her off, the lust and longing that was visible in his grey eyes replaced by cool marble. "How many girls I do this with?" he asked dangerously. 

She faltered. Had she been wrong, assuming that maybe…but he cut off her train of thought even, with his harsh words. "How dare you assume," he asked, in that same, hardened voice. "that I sleep with everyone? Rumors are not always true. I lost my control that night that everything began…something I was and am not proud of. And look at where we are now. To the point where I cannot stand the filthy sight of you…but at the same time, I want…what we do. You are the only one that I have ever done this physical relationship with, and so you keep that in mind."

Not once throughout his entire rant had he raised his voice. Not once. And now he was standing there, painfully calm and controlled…the only thing different was that he was breathing heavily and there was uncontrollable rage in his eyes. 

Hermione wondered if he ever lost his temper anymore. 

When he had been younger, he had a nasty temper…and Harry, Ron, and Hermione had often received the blunt end of it. But as he had grown, the insults had changed from silly temper tantrums to something a lot more dangerous. And his seventh year, while detest was still evident in everything he did surrounding them, he did not seek them out to berate them. He had changed.

Hermione could not think of anything to say to the statement. Obviously Ginny was wrong and he was only doing this physical thing with Hermione. Just one person. And had he really said that she was the only one he lost his control with!

"Oh," she finally said, rather meekly, as a thousand thoughts raced like Quidditch players through her brain. "Oh."

He nodded curtly, and then suddenly Hermione wanted to tell him a million things…this stolid, beautiful, almost carved of granite near-grown man in front of her…and he would be different from Harry and Ron because he would truly listen…that's who he'd become…and then the feeling washed away immediately and was replaced by everything she felt towards him always.

Which was mainly hate and lust.

For a moment they simply stared at each other, and then Hermione cracked the silence with a single word that she would never think she'd say to him. "Sorry."

His features relaxed, although he did not smile. "I don't think we should do this tonight."

Hermione nodded. "Yeah…it's too much."

He picked up his books, and giving her a quick peck on the cheek, exited the tower quickly. Hermione simply stood there for nearly a full minute before she moved. He had kissed her on the cheek…something, amazingly, he'd never done before.

She shook her head, trying to clear away the thoughts. 

Still cold with uncertainty, she climbed down the stairs and back into Gryffindor Tower. Several minutes later, she climbed into her bed, although sleep was far from her mind. How could she with the weird way that _he _was behaving?

Suddenly she realized that neither she or he ever said each other's name anymore. No, it was off-limits because of their odd predicaments. Malfoy and Granger…that was too impersonal for someone you had intimate relations with, and Draco and Hermione…that was just too close for comfort. After all, their only relationship was intimate.

Today, however had been different. Even though they hadn't done the deed, so to speak, he had said something in momentary lapse of judgment. He had said that she was the only one who had made him lose control enough to have a physical relationship. He had said that she was the only one he had a physical relationship. He had kissed her (well, on the cheek, but a kiss nonetheless) before he left.

Hell. Hermione shut her eyes, trying to close off the confused brain for the night, but she had the kind of brain that couldn't shut down until it had figured out the mystery. And right now, that was quite near impossible.

Nobody could read his mind. He was a locked gold mine of secrets that nobody would ever know, unless he chose to share. And Hermione was pretty sure he never would. 

A/N: Shortish, I know, but I've established a couple of important things in the chapter. Anyhow, please review. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. Also sorry for any errors but I haven't read over it (sheepish grin), I wanted to post quickly because I won't have a chance to do so until next week, then. 


	5. Blurred Fantasy

Purely Physical 5

A/N: I'd apologize for the wait but it seems that I'm always slow in updating. I'm so sorry! I promise it'll get better when I finish up "The Enemy" in a couple of weeks.

The days grew shorter and the homework load increased as the school year sped towards winter break. Hermione was pressured more than ever as she struggled to maintain her Head Girl status spotless, her grade record with everything 100+, and good relations with all of her peers. It was simply too much to handle, and the only way she could throw out the phases of anger building up in her was to have passion with the man she hated most.

She hated their relationship. The more it progressed, the more she hated it. Oh, not the sex. The sex was wonderful. The sex was why she did it. But she wanted off. It didn't matter. She had plenty of self-control, didn't she? She never lashed out at Neville during Potions or told Snape off for being such a prick or informed Harry that the mood swings were a little extreme. So if she could do all that without erupting like a volcano… couldn't she call off some silly little inexplicable relationship with her enemy? Was it _that_ difficult?

But as the weeks between their episodes grew longer and longer Hermione realized that the answer was actually yes. 

That particular morning, perhaps four or five weeks after the first twist in their relationship (and for some odd reason, Hermione was keeping track of that kiss-on-the-cheek), Hermione stepped down into the common room, determined to enjoy her Saturday and take the day off. She could put aside studying and worrying for now. She hadn't had a decent conversation with Harry and Ron for what seemed years.

"Hello, Harry," she said, sitting down next to him on the burgundy colored sofa.

"Hermione," he said warmly, turning to give her a smile. "How's it been? It seems you've been spending more time with your books than you have with any breathing creature."

Hermione smiled wistfully. "Well, it's seventh year, Harry. We've got to get as much work done as possible, don't we? So we can obtain the best profession possible and get to our highest potential? So we can—"

"Hermione," Harry said gently, cutting her off, "You're beginning to sound like a career pamphlet."

Hermione laughed the first genuine laugh she'd had in a couple of weeks. Oh, she absolutely couldn't wait till school was over. Just one more week to go and winter break would be a welcomed relief. "Thanks for being such an informative friend," she joked. "Where's Ron?"

"Out," Harry replied, a sly grin crossing his features.

"Out where?" she pried, although she thought she had a pretty good idea.

"With Hannah Abbott!" Harry blurted, and the two of them laughed, wondering how long it had taken Ron to finally ask the poor girl out. He'd fancied her since their sixth year and it had always been the brunt of many jokes to tease him about his lack of expertise in girls. Harry would occasionally ask him if he thought Hannah's nose was dead center, as a reminder of the shallow person that Ron had been in fourth year. Then again, he was still shallow. All boys were, all boys except…

Here she was again. Back to the root of the problem. Back to the boy she'd banned herself from thinking about. Using with great effort her sense of reasoning, she decided she didn't really have any proof that beauty wasn't the most important thing on his list. Unless she counted that minor detail that he was sleeping with her. And she wasn't exactly the sleekest broomstick in the shed, so to speak. 

"Hermione?" Harry was asking. "You're always dazing off. What's on your troubled mind?" he asked, stroking his chin, pretending to be a psychologist.

Hermione laughed. "Nothing," she said a little too quickly for believability. "Just…stuff."

"That's contradictory, Hermione. I demand you tell me what's going on."

Hermione slumped. She couldn't hold in all this stress anymore. She'd have to tell Harry. Harry was dependable. Of course she'd leave out certain bits—the bits that included Draco, sex, Malfoy, and herself—but she was having a nervous breakdown and if anyone could help it would be Harry.

"Harry," she said quietly, but her voice rose with every syllable, "It's too much. I can't take it anymore. There's so much _bloody_ shit I have to do every single day. I have to get the perfect grades. I have to be a perfect student. A role model. Have to get an excellent job. Have to be all the teachers' protégé. I really can't take it anymore. Harry I hate it! I don't want it! I want to run away and leave it all behind. I want to…be a muggle again. It's…so easy. So simple!" By the end of her little tirade Hermione was sobbing. 

"Shh, Hermione," Harry said, pulling her into a hug. "Shh, it's okay. You don't mean that," he said comfortingly, "if you were a muggle you'd never have met me, and what a loss that would have been…"

  
Hermione smiled through the tears. "Bugger off, Harry."

"You must really be upset," he said, smiling at her. "You barely ever curse."

Hermione hugged him hard, her tears leaving wet stains on his robes. "Sorry," she muttered as she pulled away.

"It's okay. I love you just a little more than the robes."

"Oh, you!" she swiped at him playfully. "I love you too."

He grinned. "Ok, Hermione. No studying this weekend. Come on, it's a Hogsmeade weekend anyway and you and I might as well enjoy it. After all Ron's making the best use of his."

Hermione thought about it, and although there was a nagging voice in the back of her head scolding her for abandoning her work, she nodded. "Yes, let's go visit Honeydukes. I could use some chocolate frogs about now."

"Chocolate frogs? Hermione, you're not adventurous in the least," Harry teased, and the two of them departed to Hogsmeade.

The two of them ambled around the small community, half-looking for Ron the whole time, curious as to what he was up to. They finally bumped into him as he and Hannah were leaving The Three Broomsticks. "Ron," Hermione called out before she could stop herself. 

Ron spun around and gave Hermione a lopsided smile. "Care to show a man some common courtesy, Hermione?" He turned towards Hannah, who smiled brightly. Hannah was one of the nicest people in the entire seventh year—she was kind, friendly, and had become quite popular.

"Am I the cause of fight between the so-called Golden Trio?" Hannah asked jokingly. "I'm so honored."

"Sorry, Hannah," Harry replied, "but Malfoy's the permanent stain on us three. He'll do anything to break us down."

Hermione's grin faded as thoughts of Draco began to plague her. Speaking of the devil, there he was, walking around with two other Slytherins—Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson.

Only when he had disappeared into The Three Broomsticks did Hermione shift her eyes away from him and back into the conversation between her friends. Ron and Hannah were going to visit Madame Malkin's Dresswear because Hannah wanted a new dress (Ron grumbled good-heartedly) and Harry had said that he and Hermione were going to go have some butterbeer.

Hermione suddenly didn't want to, knowing full well who would be inside. But she didn't want to change Harry's plans so she reluctantly followed him inside, hanging her head down and trying not to look around.

Of course it was no use at all; her heart took control and she scanned the atmosphere quickly in order to find the Slytherins. There they were, sitting right next to her favorite table.

Harry paid them no heed as he took their butterbeers and sat down so near to them. Although the weather was chilly, Hermione felt stuffy and hot, and her breath was coming in shallow gasps. Not now, she thought miserably, please don't concentrate on him…please…

Harry began a one-sided conversation about Quidditch and Hermione found it rather easy to zone out after a while. Of course her thoughts went to the sexy Slytherin sitting near her. She turned to look at him, and for the first time, she studied his expressions. His face was set in its rigid conformity as usual, but the eyes—the eyes could be very expressive. And right now they were expressing boredom and distaste. He mustn't be enjoying the conversation very much, she mused to herself.

He had the power to become somebody.

Who knew…if he escaped his destiny, Hermione thought to herself, if he escaped it, then, maybe this emotionless façade would dissolve and he could be someone that lonely Hermione truly needed. A friend. A different friend, a path of escape.

Because right now escape was the only thing she wanted.

As Harry droned on about the English Quidditch team, Hermione's mind had already launched into escape plans. She just wanted to run away; wanted to leave Hogwarts behind. Of course that incessant voice in the back of her head constantly reminded her that leaving Hogwarts for even a day would shatter all of her perfection and dreams, but for once Hermione did not listen. She let herself indulge in fantasies of being free—of adult life.

But as she finished her butterbeer, Hermione's brilliance and logistic approach to everything had reduced them to what they really were…just fantasies. Nothing but fantasies. Hermione knew that deep down she was actually a hopeless romantic. She craved love and affection and that was yet another reason why she had been so easily pulled and swayed into the physical relationship with him. But on the outside, the Hermione Granger that everyone else knew was practical, pragmatic, logistic, brilliant, and brave. She had supportive friends and she was well-liked, now that the rest of the school had accepted her as resident genius.

The real, raw Hermione underneath was nothing like that. Hermione was a dreamer, with constant visions of the future dancing in front of her. Visions of careers and money were there, obviously, but so were visions of love and warmth and all those mushy Valentine's Day feelings that Hermione would never admit to anyone at all. That Hermione cared nothing for grades or appearances, and lately, her inner personality had been clawing to get out. It was getting harder and harder to suppress it.

"Hermione," Harry was patting her arm. "Have you heard a word I've said?"

Hermione shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts. "Sorry," she said, grinning sheepishly. "Just thinking, again."

"You spend a lot of time thinking," Harry responded, giving her a warm smile. "You're so different now."

She looked down as sudden tears brushed her face like a paintbrush. "I guess I am," she choked out, trying not to let Harry see her cry. Before he could respond, the boy that only made situations worse had walked up to their table.

"Why are you crying?" he asked stolidly, as usual not letting any emotion creep into his voice. 

Harry threw him a look of malice. "Malfoy, just leave her alone. She doesn't need the likes of you right now."

The old Hermione, outer or inner, would have definitely hit Harry up the side of the head for this. Draco Malfoy had really changed, and whether she was doing the physical thing or not, she wouldn't have appreciated her friends deliberately picking fights. But right now Hermione was too tired, too stressed to even care what those two boys said to each other.

"Hermione…hey Hermione," the grey-eyed boy said, shaking her shoulder gently. "Are you okay? This wouldn't have anything to do with Snape's latest assignment, would it?"

Hermione cracked a grin. He was smart, showing Harry that there was nothing more between them than a potion. "No…although that does rank up there."

Harry stared between them, bewildered. "Hermione?" he asked quietly, glancing as Draco retreated to his own table after making sure that Hermione wasn't about to suddenly kill herself. "Are you…well, you get along with Malfoy, then?"

Hermione shrugged. Right now, there were so many things she couldn't explain about it. As time went on, they only got more complicated. In the beginning, they'd hated the sight of each other, and then as time went on, the hate dissipated into just indifference…and then that night, that awful or wonderful night, depending on your point-of-view. That had brought in a new perspective, a lust that they'd begun to feel for each other. And then his wanting to become acquaintances, although they still barely ever spoke…and now…now he was reaching out as if he were almost a friend…just maybe…another fantasy gripped Hermione's mind as she thought of how life would be if she became friends with him. Friends that had sex occasionally. She laughed quietly and looked up at Harry. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "He's changed, but so have I."

Harry smiled comfortingly. "Well, he's a Slytherin," he warned lightly, "so don't get too trusting."

Hermione nodded, and the two of them made their way back to Hogwarts.

Harry's light warning had proved to Hermione that Harry didn't take it seriously at all. He'd meant it almost jokingly, knowing that nothing could ever happen between a Slytherin and a Gryffindor…no, more than that. Between a pureblood and a mud blood, although Draco hadn't even showed regard for that. Then again, purebloods weren't restricted to intimate relationships with only other purebloods. What they had wasn't romance; it was pure, raw lust. And lastly, most importantly, nothing could spark between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. Even their names clashed, sounding to Hermione like a beautiful cacophony.

Later that night, as Hermione stared dismally at a blank piece of paper, trying to recall useless facts to write a paper for Charms, she noticed the open window, the soft burgundy curtains flapping gently in the wind. She walked over to her window, inhaling the cold December air while pulling her robe tightly around her. The stars twinkled; the night was a cool and clear one. In the distance, she could make out a silver speck—someone was taking advantage of the weather and flying.

Suddenly Hermione couldn't take it anymore. No more. She slipped on her shoes and grabbed her wand, and stepped precariously onto the ledge of the window. Slowly she moved downwards until she only had a three foot jump till the ground. Falling softly, she landed in a bed of violets and got up. She didn't know what she was going to do now, but she sure as hell wasn't going back. Not right now.

A/N: I hope that this was an okay chapter. Please review and tell me what you think. And a HUGE thanks to everyone who's reviewed. I had plans to delete the fic actually because I wasn't sure that I could write it nicely but you guys have kept me going! Please review, and thanks!


	6. Contemplation

Purely Physical 6

The cool air wrapped its slender fingers around her and she shivered involuntarily. She rubbed her eyes and stepped away from the castle, her feet moving noiselessly on the damp and dewy grass. The night was nearly pitch black, except for a faint glimmer of the moon-light, in which she could make out the same silhouette, of the person on the broomstick. Lucky one, whoever he or she was—didn't have to worry about everything she had to worry about. 

She never used to indulge in self-pity. Self-pity was stupid, an automatic turn off to any prospective friend or confidant. Self-pity stemmed from boredom, or melodramatic times. And here she was now, absolutely wallowing in it. She had promised herself she'd survive Hogwarts and graduate with absolute flawlessness in everything, so what was she doing now? In honesty Hermione didn't even know the answer to the question. What _was_ she doing here? Why wasn't she up in her dorm, asleep with Lavender, Parvati, and her other dorm mates? The chilly air, with its smoky ice scent answered for her, as she inhaled the healing coolness with an aura of relief. It was because she just needed a small break. Maybe she'd take a walk, who knew… a walk would be nice, refreshing, and maybe by dawn she'd be ready to do it over again.

Maybe not.

She didn't want to go back anymore. Maybe one night wasn't enough. Maybe she should just… run away. Only cowards ran away, only those who weren't brave enough to face their problems properly. She remembered an old saying that her grandmother was very fond of—"When going through hell, keep going". Hermione _had_ kept going. She'd gone until her feet had screamed in agony, protesting against this hurtling rush for academics and saving the world and being a model every bloody thing. But she was still in hell; there was no end in sight. Maybe everything related to Hogwarts was hell. 

She remembered talking to Alicia Spinnet two years before. Alicia had been a seventh year then; Alicia had said some words…what were they, oh yes… "Seventh year is the best year of my life. The freedom yet the structure, it's so much fun! Hermione, you will love it!" Hermione also remembered being ten years old, having an older cousin who was in senior year—12th grade—the grade before escape… and that cousin had said the same thing. How wonderful it was to be at the top of the ladder, to have to work yet have so much fun without responsibility… 

How come she was different? She wanted to have fun, too! Ron seemed to enjoy his seventh year, Harry seemed to love it, even Draco probably found it much better than the previous six. But for Hermione, every year save first year was better than this one. What was so different about her? What was missing?

She intended to find out on this little break. It might be a little too early to go around 'discovering herself' but you had to do it sometime, and now was the time for her. She'd always planned on going to university right after graduating. She had an early acceptance into United Kingdom Magic University, UKMU for short. UKMU was top notch, of course, because absolutely everything had to be top of the line when concerning Hermione. UKMU only accepted one hundred students per year, and thus was so tiny, so brilliant—guaranteed a job anywhere.

Hermione didn't want to go there anymore.

She hadn't realized it, but as she was walking, she had walked right onto the Quidditch pitch. The flyer was directly above her now, and as she looked up at the broomstick, the person saw her and began to spiral downwards. The soft moonlight reflected on his hair and Hermione noticed the silvery blonde. Well, of all the people… she knew that hair anywhere. Draco, again. What was the significance of him always popping up into her life? Damn it, she was trying to get rid of him, get rid of everything she knew right now, and here he was ruining her "discovering yourself" moment! Who did he think he was!

Her anger subsided as he slid gracefully off the broomstick and made his way to her. It wasn't his fault, really. He'd been out here before she'd even stepped out of the warm dorm room. Their lives were coincidental. Coincidentally they hated each other, coincidentally they spoke to each other, and coincidentally they fucked each other. Hah, hah, Hermione thought dryly as she remembered each time with him. She was a whore. A whore. Whores weren't perfect role models; therefore, she could never be a role model. Somehow the thought was utterly and completely _relieving_. Happiness surged through her as she looked upon his face.

"You," he said slowly, looking at her. She trembled under his gaze. She didn't know why she was afraid of him. She was in Gryffindor; she was supposed to be so brave! Then again, here she was, contemplating running away. That wasn't bravery; maybe she'd been put in the wrong house or something. Probably belonged in Hufflepuff—somewhere safe, somewhere boring, somewhere ordinary.

"Hello," she finally replied, staring at him calmly, effectively masking her fear.

"What are you doing here?" he asked the inevitable question—she knew it was coming, and had prepared a response.

"Could say the same to you," she countered with an air of snootiness. Anything for him to leave her alone and go back inside. 

He smirked. "Want me to leave then?" he asked, reading through her every word. He was good at discerning anything concerning a lie or a cover-up. It was another reason why he fit so marvelously into Slytherin.

"Not at all," she said nervously. "It's just not too ordinary for someone to be flying about at nearly one in the morning."

"Not so ordinary either for someone to be…what are you doing? Taking a walk? Not so ordinary for you to do that at nearly one in the morning," he said saucily, the smirk never leaving his face.

Hermione knew her face betrayed her; she knew the confusion etched on it. Why was he behaving like this? He hadn't been like this since fifth year, since… so long ago. He was quiet now, unprovoked, sullen, the disaster waiting to happen. What was wrong with him?

She did not question, merely raised an eyebrow at him and turned away, not even bothering to answer his question.

This proved to be not such a wonderful idea, because the second she took two steps away from him, a strong hand grasped her shoulder and spun her around. He spoke something unintelligible, but she could make out that his voice was thick with need and longing. Similar feelings rose from her own stomach and she cursed herself inwardly—it had been a very long time since they'd done this, maybe two months—but it seemed that her body had not forgotten.

Everything seemed to be betraying her. She hated him for doing this to her intellect; she loved him for doing this to her body. Horrid paradox of unhappiness! His mouth crushed hers so forcefully that her lips were nearly numb but she crushed his back, using that anger, directing it towards him. They moved slowly but surely towards the bushes, even though it didn't matter, as nobody was out. But both of them were cowards, she knew, and cowards had to hide, no matter what. This was merely a way of hiding.

His hands worked wonders again and after a few moments her weak mind had stopped protesting, knowing it just didn't matter anymore because she was going to do this. She was going to break down and use her anger, her distrust, her unhappiness in one unholy act and put it all behind her. Then she'd go back, and everything would be normal again… just maybe.

They finished up their 'romp' so to speak and remained quiet afterwards, just sitting in the clearing near the bushes, looking up at the sky. There weren't any stars out at all, and Hermione briefly wondered if that actually symbolized anything. "Have you ever star-gazed?" she found herself asking him.

He turned towards her, surprised. "No," he finally said. 

She looked down at the ground as she spoke, almost afraid to bare her feelings naked on the ground. She didn't share these types of things; she shared her homework answers and exactly how they'd conquered the Dark Forces. Nothing personal escaped her lips. She was a helper, an accessory, never the center of attention… so why would she share with Draco of all people?

But there was that same aura of trust about him. He was a Slytherin, a conniving, untrustworthy and cunning Slytherin, but yet she felt like she could confide in him. It was the oddest sensation. "I used to star gaze when I was little," she said slowly. "My dad and I… we liked to pick out shapes."

He shrugged. "My dad and I liked to look at his dark artifacts. Some of them were really rather interesting."

She gaped at him. Had he really admitted to her that he was indeed deeply involved in the dark side? This was a statement Harry, Ron, and the rest of the deeply rooted light-side people had been hoping for. Yet he had remained quiet as usual, lost in his own thoughts, never speaking a word about his family life. 

He laughed bitterly at her reaction. "Did I ever say I have the Dark Mark? That I am definitely getting secret information on you with our little sessions? Going to hurt Potter, am I? Hurt you all? Kill you maybe? Think I'm capable of that?"

As usual, you couldn't hear the anger, or see it. 

But Hermione could feel it. She was naturally perceptive and empathetic as well. Everyone assumed he was evil… and he had it in him. He could kill; she was sure if pushed to extreme lengths he _would_ kill. But maybe he could do a three sixty and change sides, or remain neutral. Neutrality seemed to suit him best; he wanted to be on the winning side, and that wasn't always possible if you were deeply loyal to one end or the other. So you had to wait, and then claim you'd been with the winning side the whole time. A shrewd, clever, manipulative way to weasel your way to riches and fortune and fame.

The old Draco would have hopped at the opportunity. The Draco in front of her… well, she couldn't tell what the Draco in front of her would do.

"Sorry," she said shamefacedly, looking down at her hands. Short and stocky compared to his long and silken ones. More symbolism, perhaps? Maybe her life was symbolism. At the moment it seemed to be nothing else.

He shrugged again. "Doesn't matter," he said seriously. "Think what you wish, assume all you want. I shan't tell you if it's the truth or not."

"Well, why not?" she demanded, tiring of all this game-playing and guessing.

"Why should I?"

"Maybe because we're intimate," the words came out before she could stop them. She had to stop assuming that just because she slept with him meant that they were really intimate. Intimacy wasn't just sex; it was bonds, closeness, even love… and she didn't have any of that with Draco. In fact she'd never even thought about loving him…she wanted to be friends with him, yes, but love? Love was for much, much later… love was eons away, perhaps even unattainable, for someone as career-minded as she supposedly was.

"We aren't intimate," he said softly. "Nobody is intimate."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked crossly, half-laughing at the situation in her mind. Here she was, all riled up with their conversation, heated and passionate and wild, and there he was, cool and calm and collected, yet his words were stronger than hers. How was that possible?

He didn't say anything, merely got up and pointed towards Hogwarts. "Intimacy… you want to be intimate with your studies, so close it hurts, doesn't it? You hate it though. You want to escape."

She stared at him.

"You want to run away. That's why you're here, aren't you? You're too perfect, your tired of being perfect, you crave imperfection. That's yet another reason why you fuck me. Because it's wrong. _I _am wrong."

She was speechless.

He ambled away, calling back to her as his voice grew distant. "It's true, isn't it?"

She was cold all of a sudden. For a while she'd ignored the air but now it came onto her full force, back to her and she was really, really cold. She was tired and sleepy. She was surprised. He knew more about her than she did… he could read her so beautifully it was unnerving. How could he tell?! And yet he had implied something that wasn't quite correct. At first she did think she'd only slept with him because it was wrong and she was oh-so-exhausted of being good but now… now she knew there was something else to it. Something she couldn't quite place; something other than lust and the thrill.

"Wait," she said weakly, and he turned around. "That's not true," she said desperately, suddenly aware that she had to convince him. "I didn't just… I don't just… do it for the wrongness, I swear."

He cocked a perfect eyebrow at her and stared for a second. She continued, hoping and wanting to convince him. "I don't, I promise. I… there is something more. I don't know what it is but there's something more. I need…I have…" she couldn't continue because she didn't know what it was—how was she supposed to explain something that she couldn't quite fathom herself?

"Oh yeah?" he said condescendingly, and once more she wondered what was bothering him (she'd always prided herself on being able to read people…why couldn't she read him as thoroughly as she could read, say, Ron?) 

She nodded at him.

"Well… that's why I do it. Because it's wrong."

The words sliced through her. Just when she'd laid her soul down for him, he'd closed his off. She knew he didn't mean what he had said but the words did imply one thing: he wasn't going to tell her anything. She was wrong about everything and for once in her life didn't know where to go from here.

Why did he make her so curious? Why did she have to know? What impelled her to hunt him down like this?

If she could answer those questions, she thought sarcastically to herself, then there wasn't a point in anything. She needed the answers—needed to know more about him.

It was like an infatuation with his closed-off mind. She was so weird. She was like a bloody stalker. It was completely different than anything she'd ever been before. She'd always been so wrapped up in herself, and here she was probing so deeply into someone else's life only to be rebuffed so completely. Yet another oddity in her current life.

"Draco," she suddenly called out, stumbling over his name, which was unfamiliar because she usually avoided saying it. 

He whipped around as if he'd been expecting her to call him.

"I… I have to go away," she said, the words sounding stupid to her.

  
He didn't say anything, but he did walk back towards her.

She looked at him and suddenly understood something about herself. It was an urgent need and she had to ask him right away, never mind the consequences. She wasn't even afraid of rejection right now. At least she wouldn't be until the words came out. She wondered briefly if this was how a boy felt when he asked a girl out, except there was nothing even remotely romantic about the situation, to her at least.

"Draco, run away with me."

He hadn't expected this one. "So you're really going to run away?" he asked, seeming to be mildly interested.

"Yes," she pleaded, "please come with me. I can't go alone. I mustn't be alone. I… have to know…just… come with me. Please."

He walked away from her and her heart surged with adrenaline. He'd just turned her down… so this was what it felt like to be rejected, to be forgotten…the second time in one night, he'd rebuffed her openings towards him. And he was the one who wanted to be acquaintances! What was he playing at?

A few moments later he returned with his broomstick. "Where to?" he asked softly. 

Hermione gazed at him in surprise. Where to? Well, she didn't really know, and even though somewhere in the back of her mind a warning bell about being expelled from Hogwarts was going off, but right now she ignored it. "Wherever," she whispered. "Let's just leave Hogwarts. Forever."

A/N: Yikes! Sorry, again, but I'm glad I updated now because I'm going on holiday later this week and shan't be able to update for a bit, so I absolutely had to get this out. Well, not too much happened in this chapter except for subtle references, and also an in-depth exploration of her feelings, heh, heh. Thanks a million to everyone who has reviewed, it makes my day! Please review this chapter as well… I'm really uncertain about it. 


	7. Ebony's Seduction

Purely Physical Chapter 7

Hermione quivered when she realized exactly what she had gotten herself into. She did want to go away—still wanted to, of course—but as she looked at his broomstick with fear and disdain she felt nauseous at the thought. She didn't want to have to fly high above the ground, beautiful as the silvery landscape may be. 

"You know," she faltered, swallowing a lump of caution that had risen, quite unwelcome in her throat. 

He turned, piercing his eyes in her direction, and Hermione felt a jolt of understanding. Maybe he wasn't going to talk—after all, were they not still far from friendly?—but he'd tell her how he felt regardless. And right now the palpable grey in his eyes seemed to mock her, asking her, was she afraid? Would she back out? Where was the Gryffindor in her? 

She wasn't going to back out. By hell's minions and Satan too, she'd do it. She was brave. She was strong. She could do this. 

"Okay," she continued, hardening her face and staring at him coldly, "let's go."

He nodded and mounted his broomstick, beckoning to her. "Get on the back. Don't hold me too tight, or I'll choke, and I'm sure you don't want me falling off on the way, do you?"

Hermione shook her head as a bitter grin crossed her features. Holding her head high and making sure that he realized she _wasn't_ afraid, she slid gracefully onto the back of the broomstick, aware at how uncomfortable it was between her legs. She did not hold onto anything at first, but as the broomstick took off smoothly into the sky, she decided with a sudden bout of fear it was better to look silly than it was to have your limbs splattered somewhere in the Forbidden forest. 

"Ease up there," he said, and Hermione could trace a note of lightheartedness in his voice. "You shan't fall off, unless I decide you're too heavy for me."

Stricken at his words she immediately loosened her grip and prayed that someone loved her enough for her to survive this journey. What was she thinking, inviting devil's spawn along with her? Had she been wrong in assessing he wasn't really evil, at least not yet? Was she going to be his first target? Was this all a huge scam just to kill her off? Did he even care about her that much to go to such lengthy pains to rid the world of "one less mud blood"? 

"You worry too much," he said softly, almost as if he was speaking to the winds.

Hermione breathed slowly, exhaling loudly and with a dark chuckle. "You're right. That's why I'm leaving."

"So where did you want to go?" he asked casually as the Forbidden forest passed behind them. They were far away from Hogwarts now; far enough for a weight to lift off of Hermione's shoulders and fall with a lump to the grounds. Suddenly she felt freer and lighter, ready to do something wild and creative and so… un-Hermione-like. She was sick of being good and wonderful and perfect and strong and…

She was ready to be weak.

She was ready to be stupid.

"Don't be stupid," he continued.

Her ego deflated in front of her and she wondered briefly if he could read minds. But she dismissed the thought and gave him a quirky half-smile. "I wasn't planning on it," she lied. "I just don't want to be perfect anymore."

"I thought you already ruined that when you started the… thing with me," Draco said as he cleverly maneuvered the broom through the air. There was something about having a conversation up in the clouds, when the sky was dark but at the same time brilliantly illuminated by numerous stars, with your ex-arch-enemy and enjoying it. Hermione was sure she wouldn't forget this moment…even if it wasn't particularly happy or romantic or special or sad or anything at all.

It just was.

"Yeah, I guess… but the more I think about it… I didn't really have that attitude when I started to, you know…yeah the thing in detention," she said seriously, her brows furrowing in concentration.

"So then why'd you do it?" It was a genuine question. Suddenly the conversation had turned from passing time to pressing questions, and everything they said was unexpectedly important and quite real. She had to be very careful about how she answered this… if she answered it at all.

"I don't know," she finally said, as honestly as possible. "A number of reasons. And you?"

He shrugged. "Looking for a new scene."

She was hurt. She hadn't meant to be hurt, hadn't meant to care about a word the damn man said, but she was quite displeased with his answer. So all that contemplation, and his only answer was, 'looking for a new scene?' That was all she had been to him? A change from the likes of Millicent Bulstrode or Pansy Parkinson?

Huffily she dropped the conversation, choosing not to answer him.

"You're upset," he finally assessed. "Why?"

"Just fly the damn stick, Malfoy," she said, his name spilling out of her mouth before she could stop it. So this was how it was. When she was particularly pleased with him, he became Draco—actually decent looking, interesting enough, occasionally even friendly (sort of). When she was upset, he became Malfoy—horrid little bugger that teased and tormented them to death. And when she was neutral, he was just _he_—cold, enigmatic, breathtaking and a real mystery.

She liked "_he_" best.

This was odd, because "Draco" was the nicest.

They rode in silence and Hermione shivered as cool air pummeled her grip into his back stronger and stronger. Even though she knew she shouldn't hold on so tight she was really terrified.  

They rode silently for most of the night, each reveling in his or her own thoughts. As for Hermione, half of the time she thought about school—the reactions when people discovered that she was indeed missing… what would Dumbledore say? What about Harry and Ron? Lavender and Parvati? Ginny and Neville?

What would they do when they saw that Draco was missing as well? Would Dumbledore automatically assume the two had run off together? It was obviously the easiest judgment; secondly, it was true.

But the other half—the half of Hermione that she hadn't realized was so dominant—wondered instead about the blackness of the sky, the silver of the land, and the softness of her vulnerability. She wondered about what he was thinking. She tried to figure him out.

She laughed inwardly.

She always had to have something to figure out. This time her subject was Draco Malfoy. 

They didn't speak very much, but when they did, it was completely dissatisfying. Hermione wanted a long conversation, preferably ferociously controversial, and she somehow felt like arguing right now. But if she brought up anything, he would simply acknowledge her thought, maybe shake his head if he disagreed, or cock an eyebrow at her in that sort of what-drug-are-you-on-now look… and turn away.

This of course led to a new line of the ever-thinking Hermione. She herself did not do any drugs but maybe he did! Maybe that's why he was so crazy all the time… stoners were supposed to be the quiet-type, weren't they? She smiled. What would her parents say if they found out she slept around with a drug addict at least five times a semester?

She almost couldn't believe it. Then she remembered that she was only supposing and hypothesizing; maybe he didn't touch anything illegal.

But _that_ was most certainly not true.

Finally, when she was tired of examining possibilities in her head and sick of thinking about the beautiful ebony of nature, she asked him. "So," she began delicately.

He looked back at her, but only for a moment as at that moment they happened to go straight through a cloud. Hermione sighed. Clouds were light, fluffy, but unbearably, soppingly wet.

She came out absolutely soaked and suddenly frozen as winter forcefully reminded her that she was its victim.

"So what were you going to say?" he asked. Hermione noticed the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. Good. She wasn't the only one in danger of hypothermia (although not at all likely, her practical self reminded her).

She hated that self.

"Oh… I was just… wondering… if you had any, um, stuff."

He turned around fully now and gave her a blank stare. "Could you be any vaguer?" he asked.

She laughed. Sarcasm suited him well; perhaps because he said it so seriously that one would think he was perfectly solemn and honest about the situation. She liked that aspect. Lavender, for example, couldn't pull off sarcastic remarks because of the loud giggle that replaced every other word.

Thank heavens that Draco didn't giggle.

Where had that come from? With a small frown she rephrased her question. "I mean… like, drugs and shit. You got any?"

Hermione could feel him tense up as the nerves sent warning signals to her icy hands. He did not reply for a good thirty seconds, and Hermione wondered if he was even planning on answering the question. Of course since his nature was so suspicious she was positive he had something or the other on him that would classify as a drug.

"Why?" he finally asked. "Why would you ask that?"

She shrugged, and then remembered he couldn't exactly see her shrugging, because she did happen to be sitting behind him. "I don't know," she answered honestly, again. It seemed like she didn't know anything anymore. Then again, was that really a bad thing?

"You had to have some train of thought," he pressed. "Tell me."

His voice had become authoritative and harsh, and he had become commanding. Hermione's heart beat rose and she swallowed, her mouth becoming drier by the second. And then she fumed at herself for being scared of him. He couldn't hurt her; goddamn it, he wasn't going to hurt her. She had to stop thinking that way! She was strong; she had a wand, and she probably knew many more spells than he did.

She didn't make perfect scores for nothing.

Then again… oh, here she was again. Contradicting everything she thought and did. She had to stop that; she had to just go with the flow and let things be. It was the best way to be, after all.

She sighed. "I was just wondering, because sometimes you're open and talkative, sometimes you're closed and rude, and sometimes you're just… enigmatic, you know?" Hermione felt so silly saying the words. It made it sound like she'd been analyzing him in a paper or something; like she'd written an essay on him.

He was going to think she was an absolute idiot.

But he didn't say that. He only laughed. "I can't believe you'd be thinking about that," he muttered. "You must be really bored."

"Oh, no," she felt herself turning pinkish, although that might have been because of the cold, "I just… well you could say that I'm a people-watcher. I like to see what people are doing, and I'm glad to finally step away from the limelight."

He nodded. "Yeah, I'll buy that. It's too weird for you to have made up. But hell, why not, I'll tell you… sure I got 'stuff' as you coined it. Why? You want some?"

Her throat closed up. All throughout her however many years at Hogwarts, she'd always known people who'd had their share of fun and parties—alcohol, drugs, plenty of sex—and she'd always abstained from all of it. She had never let herself see alcohol or drugs; they were only distractions from her studies. 

They were only going to seduce her.

But maybe now she was ready to be seduced.

She had made all those little pacts in her Muggle elementary school: I will not do drugs. When she had gone home every summer, all the kids that had pledged were high off of pot, XTC, speed, crack, heroin… whatever it was, they would do it.

And all of them smoked cigarettes. 

Not one of them had ever offered anything to Hermione, not that she would have taken the stuff of course. But it was this very thing that they hadn't even bothered to try and incorporate her in the fun that made her want to cry. She just had that persona, that feel that she wasn't _cool_ enough for drugs. She wasn't cool enough to blow her brains getting high or obtain yellow teeth from smoking.

Screw the consequences. She _was_ cool enough and damn it, if the old Hermione wouldn't have done it, irrational-Hermione-on-a-broomstick would.

"Yeah," she said thickly. "What do you have?"

He sighed. "A number of things, but I don't think you should do anything when you're flying."

"Don't drink and fly, huh?" Hermione said, remembering so many slogans from younger years—"don't drink and drive!"

He didn't get it, of course. "Well… yeah…but don't smoke and fly or snort and fly or inject and fly or whatever…"

"Yeah, I know," she eased. "I was just making a reference to a muggle thing."

His nose screwed up at the sentence but he didn't say a word. Hermione decided that whenever something he really had a very strong opinion about or something that was controversial in his world came up, he just closed off and didn't say anything at all. This was completely the opposite of other people's reactions; most people became loud and raucous when it came to instances such as these. They wanted to share. He did not.

Why was he like that?

"I'm tired," he said suddenly. Hermione saw that this was the first revelation about himself that he had made since… since, well, a very long time. "Let's stop."

"Stop? Where are we going?" she asked in wonder.

"I don't know; you're the one who wanted to leave. Had any place in mind?"

"Want to go to London?" she asked. "Maybe Diagon Alley?"

"That's stu—think, Hermione," he pushed gently. "Of course not Diagon Alley. If they think we've run off, which I'm sure they will, they'll check the two biggest wizard communities: Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. Can't go to either one. Leaky Cauldron is out as well."

She smiled at the logic. "Well of course, you're right," she said. "I'm being an absolute idiot." She did notice that he had refrained from calling her stupid. 

What was _up_ with him? Why was he so _weird_!

She loved it. It was beyond intriguing.

The black of the night had considerably lightened by this time, and streaks of faintest pink had begun to dot around the horizon. Light purples blended into the sweetest of blues to create a beautiful picture that Hermione drank in with happiness: this was so wonderful, something she could never have seen from her Hogwarts dormitory. 

She checked the time. Five a.m.

She realized that she was tired as well. "Where are we now?" she asked, yawning.

"Hmm, somewhere really close to London, actually…" he peered down. "Oh! We're actually right on the outskirts of it; I know a hotel around here!"

She hadn't seen him this excited in a long time either. Why had he agreed to come with her? She'd tackle that one later. "Well, let's stop," she decided, and they began to spiral downwards, Hermione's heart hammering in relief with every ten feet they dropped. Thankfully, her feet soon touched ground, and for a few moments she was wobbly and insecure, but soon regained her normal poise.

The streets were just lightening, but life was still not visible except for the occasional vendor setting up his cart. Hermione marveled at the will power of coming down so early to go to work. She could never do that.

They stopped before the hotel, a big building that was still shiny even from absence of light. "What is this?" she asked him. "Is it a wizard's hotel or a regular one?"

"It's a regular one," he told her, "but my father knows a wizard who works here. He'll get us free rooms, I know he will."

"Won't he tell your father?" she asked worriedly.

"He could, but even if he did, Lucius wouldn't care."

"Really?" she breathed. "Your dad doesn't care?"

"Well, he's got this… let-him-learn-for-himself philosophy. And this would just be another lesson. I used to think it was a really smart parenting decision, but look at all the shit I can get away with. I think Lucius is just lazy."

"You call your dad Lucius?" she asked incredulously.

He shrugged. "Why not? Never was that close to him, anyway."

She was entranced by the laid-back attitude towards his father and his parenting methods. Maybe Draco did just as much thinking as she did. Perhaps even more so.

They entered the building and were greeted by a sleepy look. No one was there except for an old man sitting on the desk looking rather tired and clutching a cup of coffee. "Warbleu," Draco called out. The man sat up, his attention span suddenly revived.

"Why… is that you, Master Malfoy? Draco?" he asked, rubbing his temples. Hermione noticed his hair was greasy.

"Yes, it's me. Listen, I've run away from school. Could I have a room please?"

Warbleu rubbed his eyes and Hermione was amazed at how forthright Draco was about the whole thing. She'd never have been able to do that; she'd have stumbled around the fact until she had painfully embarrassed herself. Not Draco… he just cut right to the chase, so to speak.

"You've run away, you claim?" the man, probably called Warbleu, asked, struggling to comprehend the situation. "With this lovely young lass?"

"Well, not exactly with her," Draco continued amiably. "But we both decided we'd had enough of it and just happened to leave 'round the same time. Make it two rooms, please."

"Can't give away _two_ free rooms, Mr. Malfoy," Warbleu chided. "But I'll give you one with two single beds. Is that all right?"

"Yes, could you hurry up a bit, we're exhausted," Draco snapped. Warbleu actually trembled a bit as he dropped a key into Draco's hands. He turned to Hermione with an apologizing look.

"I'd give you one too, Miss, but I really can't. Sorry you'll have to share a room with this little excuse for a boy," he teased. "Do come chat with me when I'm fully awake, Draco. Now go rest and make sure the lass is all right."

Draco nodded. "Chivalry isn't dead yet," he agreed, and motioned for Hermione to follow him. They trudged up the stairs to find mahogany colored doors with nice brass knockers. "Is this a good hotel?" she asked sleepily.

"If you're talking about how it's rated, it's a four-star hotel. Lucius and Narcissa stay in it only a few times; only if they have to visit one of their lower-class friends and don't want to seem condescending about it."

"I didn't know Lucius was courteous enough for that," she said.

He shrugged. "I don't really care." He shoved the key into the lock and opened the door, and they were greeted by a warm sight: two welcoming beds.

Hermione did not even bother to examine the room. She headed straight for the nearest bed, looked at Draco one last time, and crashed. 

She dreamt of many things… sex, Draco, school, Harry, drugs, broomsticks, the moon, Warbleu. 

But most of all, she dreamt of seduction.

A/N: Well, hope everyone knows there's more than one meaning to the word 'seduction'. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. It took me a while to write it and its still not as long as I would've liked, but it'll have to do, because I simply can't think of anything else that won't lead into a very long tangent and add 2000 words to the story (which I don't have time to write right now). If you're all panicky about beloved, good Hermione thinking about drugs, I say, remember that before things get better, they always get worse. And I know she's at a point of complete vulnerability; thoughts like these are bound to arise.

Question is, will her integrity let her do it? And what about Draco's weird personality? What about the people back home? And this is where I'm confronted with a problem: I want to explore about the people left at Hogwarts, but if you notice this whole fic is Hermione's POV. I want to keep it that way, so it's going to be rather difficult to say what Ron is feeling right now. Tell me what you think of that.

I just want to thank you all so much for your amazing, amazing reviews. They make my day. When I started this fic I planned on maybe eight chapters max; I know it's going to be much longer now. I also thought that I'd get maybe a hundred reviews max, and thank you all for giving me so much more! Reviews are amazing motivation and some give fantastic ideas. They really make an author want to write. So please, keep them coming, and thank you so much. Whew, this author's note is so long, I'm sorry… I'll stop now!


	8. A Walking Puzzle

 Purely Physical Chapter 8

Important A/N: Okay kids, let's talk about drugs! Wow I got some interesting responses to that. A lot of you were like, "NO! Hermione would NEVER do drugs!" and a lot of you were like, "eh, I see". I'd just like to respond to this. Ok. I agree with everyone that said, "NO!" to this drugs matter… Hermione-from-the-books wouldn't. But this is my Hermione; what I mean by that is… Hermione-from-the-books would never sleep with Draco, either. 

My Hermione is suffering a major identity crisis right now, so big that her morals, which is a theme of the story, are definitely changing for the time being. I never said that Hermione was going to become a major druggie, so please, just wait. I would like to thank MystyKitty for helping me with this argument (er, kind of stole some of it from your review). I hope you guys understand, I appreciated your feedback a lot. So let me give a WARNING: there is recreational drug-use in this chapter (although more of smoking cigarettes)

Hermione shivered as she sat up in the bed, her toes feeling numb as she absorbed her surroundings. The walls were plain. She smiled, somehow glad to see the nothingness. Nothing extraordinary, nothing fancy, nothing special. Absolutely normal—and this in itself was a major relief. She looked over towards the other bed, where he slept. His face was contorted into prototypes of anger, hatred, pain… anything and everything he never showed.

Her interest piqued. Was this the chance she had been waiting for? Where she could discover what was underneath the cool and collected exterior? She shivered again as her feet touched cold stone floor, the heels of her feet balking in protest, but she walked over to him anyway. His eyes seemed barely closed, and she was terrified that they would flutter open any second. But despite her cautiousness, which she promptly threw to the winds, she looked down and watched. He was by no means a peaceful sleeper. Expressions crossed his face in ways she felt were tangible yet unimaginable at the same time. She found herself thinking that if indeed she were a psychologist, a field she had always loved, be it magical or not, he would make an excellent case study.

Then again, you weren't supposed to be attached to your patients. She frowned slightly as she forced herself to re-examine their relationship. As much as it pained her to admit it, there was something beyond the purely physical aspect she had once thought it was. She couldn't place it; for starters, it was extremely plausible to say that she didn't even like him. She would never consider him a friend, yet he was more to her than Ron and Harry could be. Ron and Harry were jovial, fresh, friendly, yet utterly beyond what she needed. She needed a confidant. Maybe… just maybe Draco could be one.

Hermione was so lost in her thoughts that she had never noticed he was fully awake now, and staring at her with mild curiosity. "What compels you to stare at me when I sleep?" he asked softly.

Embarrassed, Hermione let out a squeak and promptly giggled. He watched in a most unnerving way as she composed herself and began to speak. "I'm sorry," she hastily stated, "I just… you had these… expressions on your face or something, and I just came over to see. I've only been here for a few seconds."

His mouth stretched into what could only be called a sardonic sort of smile, but Hermione could never call it happy. The smile didn't quite reach his eyes; it was more of a let-me-excuse-you-from-your-sorry-excuse sort of smile. He got out of bed and she found herself averting her eyes, but then shrugging it off… she'd seen more of him anyway.

"You're not a good liar," he finally said, as he walked toward the bathroom. "You might want to work on that."

She was left staring after him in utmost disbelief. Shaking her head slightly, she got dressed herself, wondering what the day would bring. In her head she found herself reviewing her Hogwarts schedule. Right now she would be sitting in Transfiguration, listening attentively as Professor McGonagall covered important facts for the exam. She would be taking excessive notes, starting to prepare outlines to study over winter break (which was in three days) for their final exam at the end of the school year.

She'd worked so hard to prove to them that even a Muggleborn could become a powerful witch. But what was the use? Look at where she was now! And Harry and Ron… what would they say? Would they miss her, or mourn for her, or form search parties…

She expected that Ron would go ballistic, and Harry would become moody and sullen and very withdrawn. He'd be upset, too. She remembered his warning from earlier. "He's a Slytherin, so don't get too trusting." Harry didn't know the half of it. Didn't know she had sex with this Slytherin, didn't know she was fascinated by this Slytherin, didn't know that she was the one who asked this Slytherin to tag along anyway. Harry would assume that he had coaxed her into running away; that it was all Draco Malfoy's fault. That Hermione was his totally innocent best friend. 

Did she want that image? A part of her really did. It was sweet to be that hard-working, innocent, naïve little piece of fluff that scored excellent grades and had two loving friends. But these days she was sick and tired of being so exemplary in everything. She didn't want to crash to the opposite side, but right now she was really tempted to.

Draco stepped out of the bathroom, breaking her train of thought. "What time is it?" he asked casually, and Hermione looked over at the alarm clock.

"Just past twelve," she said. "I've never slept in this late before." Her first act of rebellion. She giggled inwardly.

He shrugged. "We went to bed around five-thirty in the morning. It's excusable." He walked toward the door, and Hermione watched in surprise as he left the room. For a few seconds she just stood there and then in great haste followed him out the door.

"Hey, wait!" she called to the boy who was already halfway down the long, extravagantly decorated hall.

He turned around slowly. "Yeah?"

"I'm…what…" she didn't know what to say. Of course she hadn't expected him to take off on her; she'd thought they'd be together for the duration of their little "trip". Had he meant to separate? If so, what could she stay to stop him? She'd never told him that she expected him to be with her… secondly, he was the one who owned the broom. How was she supposed to get around? What was she supposed to do?

"Were you saying something?" he asked nonchalantly. "You said something but just sort of died out."

She shrugged and gave an uncomfortable chuckle. "Oh, whatever… just wondering where you were going. Not that I really care though, I mean, it's not like we're together or anything…"

Why couldn't she keep her mouth shut? She'd given herself away again. Another thing to note from Draco: keep it inside! He was a master of deceit and deliberation. Could remain quiet in any situation. He probably would have to be tortured to remove information from him, and even then, he might not give it up. Let alone torture, you didn't even have to persuade Hermione to give up any information. She was so loose-lipped it… ugh, yet another thing that she had begun to hate about herself. 

He smiled quite genuinely at her, and Hermione noticed how _nice_… not sexy, not God-like, not even maniacal, but just _decent_ he looked when his features lit up. "Paranoia is never a good thing," he said seriously. "I'll give you permission to follow me, I suppose."

"Oh, you!" she laughed as she half-charged at him. "I didn't mean to sound like a blubbering idiot."

"You didn't," he responded seriously, and once again Hermione noticed his charms, "We might as well have run away together. Either way, we're both… unfulfilled, I guess. So sure, let's stick around together. I was actually just going down to talk to Warbleu, maybe pester him into getting us free food."

_Us_. Not me. So then maybe he wasn't kidding. Damn! He was so unpredictable! "Okay, let's go," she sighed, and they walked down the winding pathways to the front desk. Warbleu still stood there and grinned ecstatically when he saw Draco and Hermione.

"Master Malfoy," he greeted. "And the lass. What's your name, dear?"

Hermione warmed to the sweet old man. "Hermione, sir, Hermione Granger."

"Oh, none of this 'sir' business, Hermione! What an unusual name. Where's it from?" Warbleu continued talkatively.

Hermione glanced over to Draco, wanting to see his reaction on the whole thing, see if maybe he was interested or disinterested, but he had his usual emotionless blank mask on, secured quite tightly, and there was no way Hermione would be able to remove it. 

"It's actually from Greek mythology," she explained with a small smile. "My parents were a bit obsessed with it, I suppose. It's a wonder they're dentists."

"Dentists!" Warbleu exclaimed. "I've needed a good one for years! Perhaps you could send me off to your parents!"

Hermione found herself blushing. Of course, Warbleu assumed her parents were both wizards; he'd never go to a muggle dentist. After all, here she was traveling with Draco Malfoy, the paradigm of pureblood. "Oh, er," she replied softly, "they're… they're not… wizards."

Warbleu frowned slightly. "Really? Neither of them?"

Blushing even redder now, Hermione shook her head violently, wishing that she could seep into the floor. She turned to look at Draco, whose eyes seemed to show a level of interest, but his face of course did not give away his personal feelings on the matter. "No, neither of them," she repeated quietly. "Neither of them at all."

"So…no wizard blood in the family at all? A muggle-born lass!" Warbleu cried in excitement. She looked down at the ground. She wasn't proud of her heritage, but she would never discount it either. So what if her parents didn't have magic? So bloody what?

Draco seemed to notice the fire burning in her eyes and shook his head slightly at Warbleu. "Yes, a muggle-born, Warbleu. What's the matter, never seen one before?"

Warbleu smiled kindly at Hermione. "Oh, dear, I've gone and upset you, haven't I? Take no heed at my words, Hermione! I was just so surprised to see Lucius Malfoy's son with a muggle –born. Lucius is inherently, shall we say, opposed to that class of wizards."

He reached out and patted her hand, and Hermione felt something in it as he drew away. In surprise she opened her palms and saw a bar of chocolate. "The best an old man can do", she heard Warbleu distinctly mumble, if there was even such a thing. Giving him a shaky smile she said her thank-yous. 

"I didn't mean to get upset," she explained. "And I'm aware that Mr. Malfoy would be most disappointed in his son if he was conscious of the situation. Thank you for your help."

With that, they turned to go. Hermione somehow felt the need to leave again. She didn't want to stay here; this was not what she had come for.

So what _had_ she come for? She didn't even know, but somehow she felt that… however cheesy it sounded, if she saw it or felt it she'd know what it was. And nothing had clicked yet. 

Draco clambered towards the halls, informing Hermione that he was going to go get his broom. She hadn't brought much anything with her so she opted not to go back up and instead sat down in a lounge chair and thought again about home.

She didn't think about Hogwarts, but in fact, about her home. Thomas and Jane Granger; the parents who thought she was studying in school at this very moment, when in reality she was somewhere in London… hell, she wasn't even sure where she was. Before she could think anymore, Draco was back with his broom.

"So, any particular place you want to go, or can we just go wherever?" he asked.

"Oh, anywhere's fine," she mumbled, with a wave of her hand. Anywhere. Because she could be anybody. It meant she was just _one of the crowd_. Was that her ultimate goal?

They stepped out into the cold and Hermione pulled her now dirty cloak tighter around herself. The weather was dreary, as usual. To her surprise Draco did not mount the broom, instead he began walking away from the hotel.  "Come on," he called. "There's a lovely cottage down here that my father owns. It's probably fifty kilometers from here."

"Fifty kilometers?" she asked incredulously. "You plan to walk?!"

He smiled serenely. "The exercise will do you good. Did you know that walking is good for your heart? You don't want to die of a heart attack when you're a wizard, Hermione. It's frowned down upon. A very bad way to go."

Hermione glared. Was he serious? "I don't think… walking fifty kilometers…is a good idea, Draco. We will be very tired."

His demeanor broke and he laughed. "I really had you going! You were all ready to abandon me at the thought of walking a mere fifty kilometers!"

"It's not a mere fifty kilometers. It's a lot. There is no way in…"

"Calm down," he soothed. "I was just joking. I like to mess around with people. In more ways than one," he smirked.

She rolled her eyes. And there were times when he was like a normal adolescent boy as well. Obviously now was one of those times. She watched curiously as he followed the stream that ran near the hotel. Soon they were in some sort of clearing in the woods—not a deep woods, but more of a sprinkling of trees and brush.

Half in shock and half in a real understanding, Hermione watched as he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. "What are you doing?" she asked quietly.

"Having a smoke. Why? You want one?" he answered, breathing out slowly. 

She shrugged, looking pointedly at the ground. Should she? It was the last thing she still had; her morals were completely intact (if you didn't count the whole fact that she was sleeping around with a boy she wasn't even dating, let alone loving). "I don't know," she replied softly, almost choking on her words.

He shrugged again. "Fine. But don't watch me like that. It's unnerving."

She giggled. "You actually find something unnerving? I thought you were like… this aura of calm in the middle of turmoil, or something."

"Sounds very poetic. Keep thinking."

He let the cigarette butt drop to the ground and pulled something else out of his belongings; Hermione couldn't recognize it. 

"What are you doing?" she finally asked, feeling like an idiot. Although she did almost relish this feeling of not knowing. It was different, it was almost unique to her.

"Smoking pot," he answered imperturbably, staring off into space. He seemed to be deep in thought. Hermione, on a crazy impulse, sat down on next to him. 

"Can I try it?" she finally inquired.

"Help yourself," he waved, still too busy in whatever he was thinking to pay much attention to her. Tentatively Hermione reached out and took the stuff from him, unsure what to do with.

Suddenly she felt a wave of nausea hit her. "I don't want this…" she sighed, pushing it back towards him. He shrugged again and turned away. 

"You can explore the woods or something. They won't make you high, I promise."

Something in his words stirred her into a frenzy. Was he suggesting that she was… too high-and-mighty for a simple smoke? "You know what?" she suggested dangerously. "Why don't you throw me a cigarette."

"Take it yourself," he responded, just as dangerously. Hermione knew it when she saw something glint in his eyes. He was seriously thinking about something she probably didn't even want to know about.

"Fine. I will." She reached down to his pack of cigarettes and drew one out slowly, fingering it softly, running her hands over the smooth texture. Grabbing his lighter she lit the cigarette and for a moment simply watched as smoke curled out of it.

Coughing as the smell hit her, she held it up to her mouth and inhaled deeply. Immediately she began to cough as its taste filled her lungs. She looked over at him and was surprised that he was looking at her. He had been so deeply engrossed in his own mind she didn't think that he would notice.

"What are you staring at?" she narrowed her voice to sound annoyed. Sometimes it really wasn't that hard when she was looking at him. Another one of the hundreds of perplexities of fucking Draco Malfoy.

"Nothing," he remarked. "You're not doing it right."

Embarrassed she held the cigarette away from her, its furls of smoke beginning to caress her lungs in the most horrible of ways. "Well, then, show me," she demanded.

"Ask nicely," he said seriously. 

She sighed. "Oh, Draco, help corrupt another soul, please, by teaching me how to smoke right."

He laughed and showed her the proper way, and of course, being Hermione Granger, she had grasped it within seconds. In ten minutes or so she had finished the cigarette, letting it drop to the floor. She stomped on it dramatically, envisioning a squished term paper, or a broken mirror, or a dead Voldemort.

For a while she didn't even notice a difference, but soon the nicotine began to take effect. For the first time she felt herself getting high; she couldn't say if she liked it or not. It felt good to not be in control, for a change, just to sit in the passenger's seat and let the chemicals take the wheel, but then at the same time, it really wasn't in her nature to bequeath control to anything else. She had to have it all. 

She imagined stars and shooting rainbows, and every time she looked at Draco she giggled. She still couldn't place what it was about him. Infatuation, maybe? Incredible curiosity? Or maybe she just liked the way he was when they had sex? Sex was nice. She liked sex. In fact she wanted some right now, come to think of it. It would be beautiful under the forest ground and the stars in her head and her silly smile and the way Draco looked when he smiled because it was so nice and so decent and she loved it and she loved the way she couldn't figure him out he was like a walking puzzle…

"Hey," she whispered, the drug in full effect.

"Hey," he whispered back, emulating her demeanor.

She moved towards him; somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered that she had never actually made a move on him. It had always been the other way around. "Draco," she whispered again.

He stepped back. 

She moved closer and suddenly swooped down upon him, lacerating his lips with her own, pulling her body up to his. For a moment he responded, getting involved, and then he pushed her away. In indignation her body cried for his touch, and even though she knew she shouldn't, she tried to kiss him again.

"No, stop," he said firmly, although Hermione noted that his eyes had darkened from desire. 

"Why? I know you want this," she continued. "Come on, Draco…come on…"

He shook his head and turned away, grabbing his broomstick. "If you're going to come with me," he said softly, coldly, harshly, "then you better not do anything like that while we fly. I won't hesitate to leave you behind."

Crushed, she sat down on the ground and took a few deep breaths. How could he be saying this? He liked her, didn't he? Did he not find her attractive anymore? Not attractive enough for a quick bang? Somewhere in her mind Hermione was outraged at this whorish outlook on her own esteem; it really wasn't good to refer to yourself as a "quick bang". But in her current induced state and her yearn for sex she couldn't help it. "Please…" she tried again, even though she knew it was awful and desperate. "Please…"

This turned out to be a terrible idea. Draco gave her a long, calculating look (albeit never letting any sort of emotion show; she didn't know exactly how he felt; she could only guess) and picked up his broomstick. He didn't say anything else, just mounted the golden colored broomstick and rode off into the creamy grey sky.

He didn't look back once.

A/N: Well I know that wasn't the nicest of places to stop it, but I thought it was fitting. Hope the drugs didn't scare anyone, I did give a warning at the beginning. Let's see…ok, fifty kilometers is approximately, like, just a tad over thirty miles. I know this fic doesn't sound British at all but I thought I might as well use the metric system. 

As usual, the questions you can ask yourself (lol they will be important later): why does Draco not want sex? Why does he actually leave her although he promised he wouldn't? Next time, we see all of this, plus Lucius's cottage, and maybe the introduction of some other, interesting people (from canon, these aren't OCs) 

Thank you so much for your reviews. You don't know how much they mean to me, because even after chapter seven I was still thinking about leaving this fic because I felt I simply couldn't write it. I don't think I have the skill to write the captivated mystery of Draco or Hermione's confused identity… but I'm trying my best. The ideas just sound better in my head, I guess. Anyway, thanks again, and tell me what you thought of the chapter. 

Oh before I forget: I have a new e-mail update list for this story! To be added, simply leave your e-mail in the review and I'll send you an e-mail every time a new chapter comes out! 


	9. Of Boys and Beliefs

Purely Physical Chapter 9

_But I don't believe in love_

_And I can't be changed_

_All alone I have learnt to be_

_In this mess I have made_

- 'Mess' by Ben Folds Five

She sat down abruptly, any fleeting feeling of euphoria or pleasure suddenly stripped from her. For a moment she simply sat in the woods, allowing herself to wallow in the sounds of chirping birds and running water. She stared up at the sky, willing the tears not to come, but she couldn't help it. Slowly salty water trickled down her face; tears of passion, tears of anger, tears of confusion, tears of worry. Why would he leave her? What was wrong with him?!

Hermione plucked a blade of grass in anger, slowly shredding it to pieces, squishing it with her animosity towards a certain blonde haired Slytherin. Once again she glanced up at the sky, today a deep azure, and muttered a stream of curses under her breath. How dare he! How dare he leave a girl stranded in the middle of the woods! She didn't even know where she was.

Panic rose up in her throat as she realized the implications of her last thought. She didn't know where she was. How was she supposed to get out? She felt weak and helpless and without—no. She was _not_ going to think these thoughts. She was still Hermione Granger, and even though these last few days had been anything but normal in her life… she wasn't weak and she certainly wasn't helpless. She didn't need to depend on that unreliable, unbelievable, and untrustworthy boy. She didn't need him at all. She hated him, hated him, _hated_ him!

Slowly she got up, wiping her tearstained eyes and making her way out of the woods. Her breath hitched as she left the clearing in fear that perhaps she did not know her way out. She wondered how long it had been since he had left her here…and there she was again, she thought miserably, thinking of the one boy that she vowed never to think of again. It turned out to be an arduous task. Everything reminded her of him. The waxy looking leaf blowing gently in afternoon winds made a clear memory of flying on the broomstick, the cold nipping gently at their bodies. The babbling stream…his enigmatic energy…

Hermione noticed that although she had been deep in contemplation, she had suddenly found a way out of the woods. _Good_, she thought happily, _now if I can just trace my way_ _back to that hotel… perhaps Warbleu can help me_. He'd seemed nice enough, albeit apprehensive about her heritage, and very chivalrous; he couldn't turn a lady away. Anyway it was the best bet she had now that that stupid prat Draco Malfoy had left her here.

After a good long walk Hermione finally trudged up to the steps of the hotel. Nervously she swung open the heavy door and made her way to the front desk. To her dismay, Warbleu did not sit lazily behind the counter; rather, an older, disapproving woman with a stern gaze looked back at her.

Hermione swallowed. "Excuse me," she began timidly, afraid that the woman would suddenly lash out at her or something of the sort.

"Can I help you?" the woman responded with a snap. Even her words seemed narrow and uninviting.

"Er, I'm looking for a man, er, Warbleu, actually," Hermione faltered a bit under the woman's stony displeasure.

"I'm sorry," the woman began, though she did not sound sorry in the least, "he is not here right now and shan't be for the next few days."

Hermione stepped back, the surprise evident on her face. "Why, he was just here a few hours ago!" she exclaimed in dismay.

The cold woman shrugged. "That is none of my concern. Now if you'll excuse me I have other customers to tend to."

Looking wildly behind her, Hermione saw no one. "There is no one else," she protested, slightly inflamed at the woman's complete reluctance to help Hermione in the slightest. "Could you please tell me what has happened to Warbleu!"

The woman pinched up her nose further. Hermione's blood began to boil in anger but she tried her best to keep her temper down. Still, her nostrils flared and her expression was one of irritation. "No, I can't," the woman finally said. "It's none of your damned business, little girl, and I can't waste my time with your complaints. Now if you don't leave immediately, I'll have you arrested for loitering."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest at the unfairness of it all, but the woman picked up the phone menacingly and Hermione knew she wouldn't hesitate to act on her threat. Finally in desperation Hermione stomped out of the building, but on a wild impulse turned around and flicked the damned woman off before running in the opposite direction.

Slightly giggling, Hermione's anger dissipated as elation filled her. "That felt good!" she said to herself. For the first time she'd publicly displayed her anger in an unacceptable way, and somehow it filled her with a feeling of complete happiness. Stupid woman had deserved it anyway. It was lucky for her that Hermione hadn't taken out her wand and hexed her.

As the natural high from getting a form (okay, a weak form) of justice subsided, Hermione was once again faced with the problem of what the hell to do. She was stuck, no doubt, good and stuck. She couldn't really walk very far away from this hotel, because maybe there was this small chance that he'd come back. Although she didn't quite know what she'd do if Draco did happen to return. Would she accept him? She certainly couldn't turn him away; he was her ticket out of here… but would she forgive him?

What he had done was unforgivable! Leaving her here stranded! The devil! But maybe it was slightly her fault. He _had_ said he would leave her if she continued to pester him for sex (and here she blushed and berated herself; she was such a whore!), and she had done exactly that. But still! That didn't give him any excuse to just off and leave her!

Hermione sat down on the grass and absent mindedly her thoughts drifted back to the earlier hours of the afternoon, namely the "activities" she had explored with Draco. She felt nauseous at the thought. She had thought that maybe drugs would help her through, help her find that thing that she was searching for… but they hadn't. Maybe it was because she'd chickened out at the last moment, opting only for a cigarette.

And the high hadn't even lasted very long.

So it really wasn't worth it, not for her. But at least she wasn't perfect anymore… she wasn't pure… was slightly tainted. Slightly dark. It had been a desperate measure to further destroy any identity she had, but it had succeeded, hadn't it? She'd been thoroughly confused, thoroughly unsettled, and that was what she wanted… right?

She didn't even know what she wanted.

But then again, did anyone know what they wanted? Look at Draco. Did he know? What did he want anyway? Why was he with her? Yet another question he had purposefully evaded. She envied his sly and deviant, yet enigmatic and unapproachable nature, but at the same time, she didn't want it for herself.

Something she had established, at least, in the last few days.

She'd mimicked him, followed his activities, and had realized that at least she didn't want to be a female version of Draco Malfoy.

Exhaling loudly, Hermione looked up and saw his face. He was there! He was standing right there, just a little bit away from her! He gave her an uncertain sort of smile when he saw that she had noticed him. "Hello," he began in what she could only assume was a tentative voice.

Exasperated, Hermione glared at him. "'Hello?' Is that all that you can say to me? I can't believe you! You left me here! How dare you! You horrible, rude, insufferable…"

She trailed off when she realized that none of what she was saying seemed to make an impression on him. His face remained exactly the same. His deep grey eyes did not display any form of emotion, only emanated an extraordinary amount of perception. His pointy nose was straight and centered. His lips were not pulled in a smirk, rather, they were slightly parted. His straight blonde hair was disheveled, but at the same time, it looked rather striking.

He was beautiful.

For the first time she truly realized it. He was beautiful. He was just the sort of boy you'd want a painting of. She smiled as she lost herself in memories of Muggle art…he was sort of a Mona Lisa, in a way. A beautiful, slightly depressed mystery.

"You were saying?" he asked quietly, immediately bringing her out of her daydreams.

"I was just…oh, forget it, you wouldn't understand. Maybe in your world it's quite all right to leave someone stranded in the middle of nowhere," she snapped tiredly, her mind still reeling from her sudden insight.

"Maybe you're the one who wouldn't understand," he said distractedly as he looked pointedly at the ground.

"Honestly!" Hermione yelled in frustration. "You're impossible!" She huffed away, tears pinpricking her eyes again. Why did he have to be this way? Why couldn't he be normal, like Ron or Harry? Why couldn't he be a hormonal teenager who didn't go around saying stuff like, 'maybe you're the one who wouldn't understand?' She hated that quality about him!

But she liked it, too, or else she wouldn't be here.

Hermione felt strong hands on her shoulders and immediately stiffened, even though she knew it was just Draco. "Look," he began, his voice soft and calming, "I'm sorry I left you. I honestly am. Turn around."

She couldn't help it; she did.

He was looking at the ground again, and for the first time Hermione could place his emotions very well. He was uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable. He sighed. "Look," he said again. "I'm… I'm not sure why I'm here but…" he trailed off and looked right at her.

Grey eyes met brown ones and Hermione's mind exploded in fireworks. For a moment it seemed like she had understood him, had felt what he was feeling! Unfortunately her spark soon fizzled out and she was back where she was before… but it was as if she was one rung higher on the ladder. He was…oh, he just was! He was marvelous and beautiful and lovely and she enjoyed every moment of being with him.

"Hermione," he tried again, and she knew he was trying to say something important but couldn't place the words, "Like I said… I really don't know why I came with you…but I just want to…say that…I appreciate your company. You're like… a mate…well, no not really…what I'm trying to say is that…"

"That you're only human," Hermione smiled warmly towards him. "Draco, I know…for the first time I know what you mean. I feel it too…it's like a connection but I can't describe…we're not mates but we're not lovers…I don't know."

He gave her a heartwarming smile, and she noted it was the first time she saw a really genuine smile grace his features. All of his smiles were gorgeous, of course, they lit his face up in a manner that was close to unbelievable… but this smile was different, was so real and raw that it almost blinded her to look at it but at the same time she really couldn't stop.

She wondered if he was going to kiss her. This would be an ideal moment to do so. He'd never kissed her when it wasn't a tryst…and truth was, it'd be awfully nice if he did. She was beginning to think…no, she mustn't let herself think that. Closing her eyes expectantly she waited for a few seconds before opening them in disbelief to find that he had already turned around and was making his way to his broom.

He'd shut himself off again.

Hermione wanted to yank her hair out in frustration but refused to let herself do so. She wasn't going to succumb to the idiocy of his erratic tendencies.

"Come on," he called over his shoulder. "Let's go check out the Malfoy cottage."

With a small sigh she followed him, half-angry but half-relieved that the moment hadn't gotten any more intense. Mounting the broomstick the two flew through perfect weather. Hermione's favorite weather, to be exact. A cool, crisp, and sunny day with blue skies. The perfect mixture of winter and summer.

They flew for what seemed to be an eternity of bliss. It was the first broom ride that Hermione really enjoyed. It was the first broom ride when she didn't notice how high off the ground they were, how the broom swerved from left to right, how her stomach seemed to drop with every swoop of the broomstick. Soon they had reached the cottage and Hermione had to snort with laughter when she saw what the Malfoys deemed a cottage.

"Cottage!" she sputtered to Draco, who was looking at her to presumably see her reaction. "Hardly!"

"Well, I know," he began shyly, "I guess it's a bit large for a cottage."

"A bit? Golly! You could fit a family of ten in this thing and still have room for guests! Cottage! I suppose, however, that compared to your home it is a simple thing, though?" she teased.

He shrugged. "Yeah, that place is pretty damn big. But Lucius likes his homes that way. My mum, not so much."

Hermione was immediately interested. She found that she was always interested when it came to a tidbit of Malfoy history or knowledge. Maybe because the family in itself was so unique and different. They were evil, sure, but evil was a generic word. She wanted to know just how they were evil. There had to be more than the head of the family's dabbles in the Dark Arts. "Really?" she asked casually. "Your mum doesn't like your house?"

"Well, no, it's not that. She likes space too. But she thinks our house is a bit much. But Lucius, the old chap really likes his privacy. My mum hates that. She thinks it distanced our family. But this is the same lady who keeps a book on contraceptive charms on every landing, should I ever feel the need to look one up," he said seriously.

In spite of herself, Hermione burst out laughing. "She really does that?" she asked.

Draco nodded. "I'm dead serious."

"My mother would be awfully disappointed in me if she found out I was engaging in sexual relations," Hermione said suddenly. She didn't know why she'd chosen to share that particular bit of information. It was something she herself didn't acknowledge because she didn't like thinking about it.

"Then why do you? Rebellion?" came his quick and as usual thoughtful response.

She sighed. "I don't know. There are things in this world that… I just can't figure out why I do them. Why I strive for good grades is one. I mean of course the immediate benefits of good grades are obvious… acceptance into a good university, which leads to a good career, which usually is the foundation for a good life… but what compelled me to strive for good grades in the first place? What motivation was there? Why did I have an inherent desire to get good grades? It's questions like these..." she trailed off.

He gave her a look. "You're quite philosophical. I like that."

Her heart swelled at his compliment/observation/feel good moment and she followed him into the "cottage" curious to see what it looked like. If possible it was more magnificent on the inside than it was on the outside. "It's lovely," she breathed. "Does your dad come here a lot? I would, if it were mine… it's like a haven."

Draco shrugged. "I really don't know. Like I said, Lucius and I aren't very close. He does believe in letting one experience things for himself. I remember when Lucius found out that I did muggle drugs. He was very upset—the whole reason I did the muggle ones anyway is because he hates muggles, wanted to see how far I could push it, you know—but then he sort of calmed down and left. He's hardly a fatherly figure."

Draco went off to do whatever he did while Hermione decided to explore the cottage. In the back of her brain niggled the thought that she was missing so much school, but at the moment, Lucius' exquisite taste in decorating and such was truly winning her over. It was marvelous here, simply marvelous. The bedrooms and bathrooms were completely done up in rich warm colors like burgundies and gingers with contrasts such as lemons and obsidians. There was a beautiful, airy library that hosted a number of books that Hermione's hands itched to touch. A huge sprawling kitchen that oozed wealth and a luxurious spa that seemed to stream Galleons. _I can't believe they call this a cottage_, Hermione found herself thinking.

She walked into the spa room and the first thing that caught her eye was a large and strategically placed mirror. Intrigued, Hermione made her way over to it and stood in front of it. She nearly jumped back as the mirror began to talk. "Hello there, Hermione Granger," it said and she shrank back further.

"How do you know my name?" she finally asked.

It smiled, and Hermione made a mental note to tell her parents that she'd seen a mirror smile. "Because I not only see your reflection, I see who you are."

"Well…" Hermione began awkwardly, "I'm not just Hermione Granger. There's more to me than a name."

"But of course," the mirror responded quickly. "I see some of it; other things are blurred from my probing glass because you wish to hide it. Some of it I can still make out though."

Hermione looked deeply into the mirror and observed her reflection as she tried to process the mirror's words. There she was, a normal teenage girl. She was unfortunately, rather short, just a few inches over five feet, she supposed. Her hair, though not as bushy as it had been in her first few years at Hogwarts, was comprised of wild curls that came down nearly to her mid-back, and her eyes remained a boring sort of brown. At least she had her teeth though, now no longer reminiscent of a beaver. She sighed.

"Don't worry," the mirror said, as if reading her thoughts. "You aren't half-bad looking, dear. In fact you're rather pretty."

"Thank you," Hermione replied graciously. "It's… it's not that, I suppose I'm fairly confident about it… well, I'm one of those girls who isn't particularly pretty or striking, but I'm decent, you know? Fair, I guess."

She couldn't believe it. She was having a girly heart-to-heart with a mirror, for goodness sake. With a mirror! She was confiding in a mirror when she couldn't confide in any of the girls she knew at Hogwarts; not Lavender, not Parvati, not Ginny, not Mandy, not Sally Anne… none of them.

"But there's a glow that I sense from you," the mirror was saying with impeccable clarity, "an aura almost. I think I can place it. Shall I tell you?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow in interest. An aura? A glow? What was this? "Of course."

"It's love, my dear. I can't see how you don't see it. Fairly obvious, isn't it?"

Before Hermione could even process the words, she heard movement on the other side of the room and swiftly turned around to see Draco standing in the doorway. "You like my father's mirror, do you?" he asked amusedly.

She blushed. "Oh, I was just… exploring," she finished up lamely. "Excuse me, I have to use the restroom, could you leave for a moment?"

She didn't know how she came up with such a rational excuse at such an irrational time, but thankfully he left. Only then did the oceans begin to churn in her ears. She felt sick to her stomach as the mirror's words echoed in her head. Love. Love. Love. She didn't fall in love. No! She didn't even fancy him, let alone love him!

But. There was always a but. She didn't fancy him; that was true. Her attraction to him wasn't just sexual, wasn't just a quick crush that eventually faded out. What she felt towards him was more than a confused sense of hormones… it was… it was _love_. She couldn't place it at first, but of course it was love. A different kind of love, a kind of love you had to work at, but then of course you had to work at all kinds of love.

She loved him.

She loved him! The words truly sunk into her and she knew why she couldn't keep him out of her head, why she yearned not only to make love to him (make love!) but to talk to him, to truly understand him, to have a connection with him.

She stepped out of the room for a walk. Hermione needed to calm herself down. She had to get used to this new word that penned her feelings. But before she could really do anything, she turned a corner and saw a face she had not expected.

"Oh, hello, Miss Granger, I believe," came the unmistakable voice of Lucius Malfoy, silky, smooth, dangerous, "I didn't quite expect to see you here."

A/N: Well, another chapter is out. I hope you guys liked it. I just have some things to say. First question some people asked was, is Hermione going to be a druggie? So she tried one cigarette. No. She's _not_ going to be a druggie. Second was, why does Draco do muggle drugs? I answered it in the chapter, I hope it wasn't awkwardly phrased. It just seemed you know, another mindless act of rebellion, cuz I think lots of children often can be penned "rebels without a cause".

I have two reviewer notes I'd like to do. My first one goes out to **rainboworld**: Thanks for my first flame ever. I was waiting for that one. And no, the previous chapter was not written from experience, I'm not a druggie; the only thing I've ever tried is a cigarette, and I didn't like it, and I definitely don't smoke. But hey it's got to mean I described it well if you think I wrote it from experience, huh? ;)

Secondly to **beachLEMON**: thank you so much for your encouraging review. It made me feel soo much better! The world needs more reviewers like you! muah I think I inappropriately love you. (just kidding).

Thanks everyone! Once again I do have a mailing list for the story. If you would like to be added please leave your e-mail address. Please review, too. I want to know what you thought.


	10. Haunted

Purely Physical Chapter 10

Hermione thought that maybe this was the end. As if Lucius was the lion and she had just willingly stepped into his lair. He smirked down at her, a smirk that reminded her of Draco and his less appealing ways, and she maintained eye contact to the best of her abilities. _Never let the enemy smell your fear_… Sirius had once told Harry that. And any word of Sirius was meant to be followed.

Still, it didn't prevent her heart from thumping, or from the fight-or-flee actions kicking in… and she chose to fight. She always chose to fight. She wasn't the type to run away, not with friends like Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, not even if she was fucking this man's son. She'd stay, and if he was going to smite her down, then so be it.

"Miss Granger," he repeated. "What an… interesting surprise." He seemed, for lack of a better word, amused by this situation.

Where was Draco? In what part of this horrifically huge home was he lounging in? I need you… she thought telepathically. Of course, it didn't work, reinforcing her belief that divination was completely a farce. "Mr. Malfoy," she replied softly. What else could she say? She decided it was best to keep silent in a moment like this.

"I presume you are here with my son. There is no other explanation," he drawled. Muttering a quick _Sonorus_, he called loudly, "Draco!"

There was no way that Draco could have missed that. And in a few moments, looking slightly disheveled, Draco was standing in front of them. If he was surprised, he didn't show it. "Lucius," he said coolly.

"Now what on earth would two Hogwarts students be doing outside of Hogwarts during their school year?" Lucius remarked, as if he was asking a simple question with a simple answer.

Draco didn't stutter in the way that Hermione would if her parents put such a proposition in front of her. Where she would have mumbled something to the effect of, "I can explain…" he simply looked his father in the eye and shrugged. The idiot, Hermione thought frantically, he's going to infuriate Lucius!

"You don't know?" Lucius asked softly. Hermione was pretty sure that he was at this moment, especially dangerous. "You don't know? Tell me Draco, how you are unaware of the… oddity in this situation?"

"I got bored," Draco finally managed, the look in his eyes bordering on savage.

"You got bored. I see. And you managed to bring Miss Granger along with you?" Lucius continued conversationally, although Hermione knew his tone was probably quite deceiving.

Once again, Draco shrugged and looked nonchalant (except for his eyes; they gave him away). Hermione marveled. You could hardly read this boy by his eyes, but here he was, standing in front of the man who sired him, and everything was a dead giveaway. Maybe Draco was reluctant to admit it, but he did seem slightly uneasy with his father.

"Don't want to answer my questions, Draco?" Lucius chuckled eerily. "Well then, I suppose I'll have to turn to Miss Granger."

Hermione trembled, but put on a bold face. She couldn't let him know just how much he terrified her, or anyone else for that matter. It would make him cockier than he already was.

"Miss Granger," he paced inquisitively, "may I ask what in the hell you are doing here with my son in my cottage when you should be in class on your last day before winter break?"

You wouldn't have known he was angry if it wasn't for the small expletive he used. Hermione flinched, but stood strong. "We went out for… a ride," she finished lamely.

"A three day ride, Miss Granger?" Lucius smirked. "Yes, I have been informed of your absence, and…" his condescending smirk grew wider, "what kind of father would I be if I didn't take you both back right away?"

Hermione looked at the ground, finally breaking eye contact. Take her back? But she wasn't ready to go back! Why the thought hadn't crossed her mind earlier, she didn't know. Of course Lucius would take them back. Of course! "Now if you'll excuse us, Miss Granger," Lucius suddenly said, "I mean to have a little chat with my son."

Mumbling, Hermione exited the room and began to walk down the corridor, wondering where she could go. Then, suddenly, she was struck by a horrific idea, an idea that would normally come from the likes of Harry and Ron on a day that they felt particularly daring… to eavesdrop on Lucius and Draco.

It was wrong, she knew it. It was not only a moral faux pas, but if she were caught, she was convinced that Lucius would waste no time in blasting her to smithereens. Still, she had to risk it. She didn't know why she was feeling particularly risky; maybe it was the fact that Lucius hadn't maimed her or anything when he'd caught them there. So she slowly walked back to the room and stood outside, holding her breath and hoping they were too involved in the conversation to listen for the sounds of another person.

Hermione's brilliance kicked in a few seconds later, when she cast a quick _Silencio_ on herself to make sure that even her breathing was not heard. Too bad she didn't have Harry's invisibility cloak. "Disappointed," Lucius was saying.

"Why, Lucius," came Draco's sarcastic reply, "I didn't know you cared enough."

Lucius growled in what Hermione presumed was anger. "I may let you do your own little things, Draco, but one day your mistakes will catch up to you. Mark my words. Relationships with mudbloods and skipping school! I'm appalled, but you may sort this mess out by yourself. Do not turn to me for help."

Hermione shuddered. How could Draco ever disobey a man like this?

"I won't," Draco shouted heatedly. "I'll never turn to you. Never."

"Good," Lucius said scathingly. "Now let's get that little _friend_ of yours and go back to school. And if you don't stay there till the end of term, don't expect me to take you back. If you want to ruin your life, go ahead. What's it to me?"

Hermione let out a gasp and ran down the corridor and into a random room. She quickly removed the spell and glanced wildly around. Oh, good, good, it was a sitting room. Believable for her to just have sat down and waited, right? She sunk into an armchair and hoped that they didn't know.

The Malfoy family had a lot more problems than she had originally thought, especially between father and son. Narcissa seemed to be out of the loop. "Hermione," she heard someone call and she sprang up, her heart still beating with the knowledge that she had just eavesdropped on one of Lucius Malfoy's conversations. Well, she'd like to call it overheard, but the truth was that she had done it all very deliberately.

"Right here," she replied nonchalantly. They couldn't sense it in her voice, could they? Don't be silly, she chided herself, Lucius wasn't unnaturally perceptive; he couldn't smell dishonesty…or could he?

"Come on," Draco motioned, a sullen look adorning his face, "we have to go. I suppose my father will Floo us there."

"Oh, okay," Hermione sighed, feeling awkward. "Don't forget your broomstick, and stuff."

"Oh yeah. Thanks," he departed the room in search of the abovementioned items. Hermione looked forlornly after him for a second and was then distracted as Lucius entered the room.

"Miss Granger," he began silkily, "I do advise you to keep your distance from my son. Bad things will come of bad company."

She was shell-shocked. He hadn't just insulted his own son, had he? He laughed mirthlessly at the expression on her face. "Oh, don't worry, _darling_. I was rather referring to your…perfect reputation at school, correct? Those grades, we wouldn't want them slipping, those friendships, we wouldn't want them breaking, would we?"

"No, we wouldn't," she finally managed to force out. "Not in the least." Draco, please come back here quickly, she prayed, feeling utterly useless. If the need came up, she would hex him, no doubt of it.

Just at that instant when the tension was getting to a point called unbearable, Draco sauntered cheekily into the room. "Ready, Lucius?" he asked with a small smirk.

"Indeed," Lucius sneered back at his son. "To the study, please."

Hermione followed the father and son duo through the halls and into what was deemed Lucius's study. It wasn't nearly as large or beautiful as Hermione had expected; perhaps this was a makeshift study as of course his real one would be at the house. It was still lavishly furnished, making obvious that it belonged to a very well-off owner. "Never could resist showing off, could you," Hermione whispered to herself. Luckily, neither Malfoy picked up on it.

"Draco, why don't you go first," Lucius said innocently. Hermione trembled in fear. He always did want her alone, the bastard…

Draco shrugged and did so, obviously not sensing anything. Or if he did, he certainly didn't seem to want to interfere with any of it. "Once again, Miss Granger, I do warn you to stay away," he smoothly insisted as he put his hand on her shoulder.

It took all of her willpower not to shrug it off. "Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Malfoy," she retorted with a frosty air of formality.

And before he could say anything else, she took a pinch of Floo powder, took a deep breath, and hurtled her way over to the Hogwarts' Headmaster's fireplace.

The sight in front of them was one which Hermione would have laughed at in any other circumstance. Dumbledore's face was an expression of absolute shock, and never had she seen her Professor at such a loss for words. Shortly after she stepped out of the fireplace, the same fire spit out Lucius Malfoy. "Ah, Professor," he grinned. "Two missing students, I believe, have found their way back."

Dumbledore seemed to recover instantly. "Ah, yes. Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger. Simply wonderful. I trust that you, Lucius, were able to accomplish this?" Although Dumbledore was always polite, Hermione wondered what his true feelings towards Lucius Malfoy really were.

Lucius nodded. "Yes. I am most disappointed in Draco; I do hope he is given the harshest punishment possible."

Hermione caught the look of loathing Draco sent his father. "Now, now, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore hastened, "no need to get worked up; your father simply wants the best for you. Anything else, Lucius?"

"I'd be careful with these two, Albus. They seem to have developed some nasty habits," Lucius bid his strange adieu and stepped confidently into the fireplace. Within a moment he was gone.

Dumbledore turned his usually sparkling blue eyes on the two of them, but right now those same eyes were looking rather somber. "While I am very relieved to see you both back here, safe and sound," he began, "I am also greatly disappointed in the two of you."

Hermione hung her head in shame. This was like a nightmare come true for her, being scolded by one of the professors. And this just wasn't one of them, this was the Headmaster himself! She looked over to see how Draco was taking it. Well, he certainly wasn't looking down; he stared the headmaster in the eye and had once again regained that neutral expression in which it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

"However," Dumbledore continued on a lighter note. "I am sure your disappearance was not just a mindless act of rebellion. I wish to speak with you both individually. Mr. Malfoy, will you please leave the room for a moment?"

Draco opened and closed his mouth, shot a steely glance at Dumbledore and finally slowly made his way to the door. Hermione was pretty sure he was right outside, intent on hearing what Dumbledore had to say to her, but the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes told her otherwise. "Just a moment, Miss Granger," he smiled and flicked his wand towards the door.

Anti-eavesdropping charm, Hermione marveled. An extremely difficult but extremely useful thing. "Miss Granger," Dumbledore spoke low.

Hermione's brows furrowed in confusion. What was this? She had expected a lecture, perhaps a warning, maybe even (and this thought had been niggling at the back of her mind) the shame of being stripped of her Head Girl badge… but it seemed like Dumbledore wanted to speak of none of that. "Professor?" she asked, the curiosity evident in her voice.

"I trust that Mr. Malfoy did not… harm you in any way? He did not… speak to you about his father's…activities…dabbles in the dark side, perhaps?"

Hermione went numb. For a few seconds, she couldn't react, and then the rage began to seep slowly into her veins and she turned to her beloved Professor with a fiery glare. "No," she replied vehemently. "Of course not. And I refuse to say anything more," she added as an angry afterthought.

Dumbledore looked relieved. "Now for lighter matters… it pains me to see a top student like you shirk away from her duties. I understand that everyone needs some time off, and I do hope you've been able to collect yourself on your departure from the school. I advise you to rest today… and then tomorrow is your first day of winter break. As usual you are welcome to stay at the castle or return to your home. You may go."

She stumbled out of the room, not even gracing Dumbledore with a backwards glance. She couldn't explain the fury that she felt at his question; the audacity of it all! How could they accuse someone as innocent as Draco Malfoy of something sinister like his father? Draco was still a child, _a child_, and they refused to accept that? Draco talked about school and sex and drugs and all those other hazy things that teenagers liked to do; he didn't talk about murder and death and Voldemort and evil he was just a normal…she let her thoughts trail off as she walked dejectedly to the Gryffindor common room, wondering what Dumbledore would have to say to Draco.

Hermione muttered the password (fwolda the foul) and entered the common room, suddenly exhausted. Thankful that it was empty, she sank into a sofa and closed her eyes, wishing that none of this had ever happened. Before she could properly fall asleep, however, a familiar voice greeted her ears. "Hermione!"

Her eyes flew open and absorbed the sight of two very surprised teenage boys. "Hermione! We were so worried," Harry sighed in relief at the same time as Ron pulled her off the couch.

"It's really her, blimey, we thought Malfoy'd abducted you…"

"Honestly with all the rumors you've been dead twice, mutilated, raped, and fed to the death eaters… are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she spoke, and suddenly felt dizzy from Ron pulling her up so fast. She sank back into the couch as the blood rushed to her head. "I'm fine," she repeated firmly. "I…look, I just got awfully… fed up with it here and just…left for a few days."

"Just _left_? Hermione you missed class!" gaped Ron.

"Snape was absolutely awful these last few days, you're lucky…" Harry stated grimly.

She held up a hand for silence. "I don't really want to talk about it, okay? I needed a break, I took one, and now I'm back. I'm going to go to my room," she pushed through the boys and stepped towards the portrait hole.

"Hermione, wait," commanded Harry. "You still haven't told us where exactly Malfoy fits in."

She sighed and told them the absolute truth. "I don't know where he fits in. But he just does."

And with that she left the two flabbergasted boys behind and stalked up to the Head Girl rooms.

Exhausted she entered the Head Girl's room, looking much cleaner than she'd left it on that chilly night. Apparently the house-elves had come in and cleaned things up. She was partly angry, but her anger dissipated into sheer fatigue and she lay back on her bed and promptly fell asleep.

And then the dreams started.

_She was hurtling through empty space, and somewhere a voice she had become very familiar with over the last semester kept calling out to her. "Come here, Hermione this way…"_

_  
She wanted to follow him, no doubt, but somewhere a willpower she didn't know existed was blocking her way. The voice of reason argued that she couldn't really trust him. But I love him, she thought inanely. I love him I love him I love him I love him…_

_Shut up! She'd reached a pathway through a beautiful garden. He was standing there, his face lit up with one of his rare smiles. "Hey, I want to show you something, love."_

_He called her love! She was elated, and didn't think twice as she began to follow him through the twisted path. "It's pretty," she commented. "It's really pretty."_

_He turned around and she expected him to agree, but instead of his cherubic face she was met with a sight so hideous she could barely describe it…and then he moved closer…_

Hermione woke up clutching her sheets. So vivid, so real, and so terrifying… his face… only one word came to mind. Evil. She felt absolutely silly turning such idiotic notions over in her mind, but it had been true. He hadn't looked like some monster with a white face and red slits or anything, he'd looked the same as always… only… evil. And that's what had made it so damn scary.

Pushing the dream away as some silly symbol from her subconscious, Hermione decided there was really only one thing to do. It was something she'd been meaning to do since her realization; there was just no way that she could continue this physical relationship. No bloody way. Quickly she freshened up and stepped into the halls. Checking her watch she saw it was already dinner time and the Great Hall was full with students. Nervously she made her way in and at once the whispers reached her ears.

She caught bits and pieces of them; with words such as 'whore', 'slut', 'bitch' reaching her ears she decided that the rumors were a lot worse than Harry and Ron had claimed. They were awful. The students were a mob and she was being devoured.

Embarrassed, she still held her head high and scanned the crowd for pale blonde hair. He wasn't there. Damn it! She turned to go and at that moment came face to face with the boy in question. "Hey," she breathed.

"Hey," he responded, although he looked distracted. He seemed to be looking beyond her.

"I've got to speak with you," she stressed, and dragged him out by the arm. She could practically feel the eyes of every single person in the Great Hall on her as she dragged him out of the place and into the nearby corridor. "Look, this is important."

He looked at her and Hermione could see he was genuinely interested. "We… can't do it anymore, okay? This little… friends with benefits, I don't know what it is sort of thing. I'm not doing it anymore."

For a second she thought she saw a stricken look on his face; a flicker of surprise, but as soon as she saw it, it was gone. She thought he was going to ask why; instead, he pulled her to him and kissed her forehead softly. With that he made his way back into the Great Hall, not looking back once.

She was left staring at him in utmost surprise. Out of all the things she would ever expect him to do, that was certainly not on the list. It was too tender for him, too soft… and he was rough, like sandpaper.

But if you rubbed sandpaper hard enough, it lost its jagged quality…

A/N: Well, here you go. Chapter 10! Thanks so much for your amazing reviews, everyone, you guys have really made this worth it. There are some questions that I intend to answer; I can't say anything right now because it will give stuff away, so just wait. The question, or, er, thing that you guys have been pointing out to me, will be answered in the next chapter (I know. That sounds so confusing).

Anyway, review the chapter, tell me what you thought, and once again, thank you.


	11. Lies and Revelations

Purely Physical Chapter 11

_Immobilized by the thought of you_

_Paralyzed by the sight of you_

_Hypnotized by the words you say_

_Not true but I believe them anyway_

- Shiver by Maroon 5

Hermione woke early the next morning and stretched languidly as bright sunlight streamed in through her window, illuminating her curtains. The pleasant feeling was ripped from her as last night's dream came back to haunt her immediately. It had been the same dream…he had looked so evil, standing there, and this time he'd beckoned her to follow him. Follow him where? She found herself asking, and her body shuddered at the thought. He was going to show her something…and he had. A wall. A wall with "mudblood" sprawled across in bold red letters. In blood. Tainted, impure blood. With a jolt she remembered that today was the first day of her winter vacation. Shaking off her dream (or rather, nightmare), she morosely thought she didn't exactly deserve a lovely Christmas break.

For now that Hermione was back, guilt had swooped through her over and over until it was embedded quite deeply in the pit of her stomach, and by the looks of it, beginning to spread. Last night she hadn't gone and talked to her professors as planned, hadn't asked about make-up work. She hadn't given Ron and Harry any explanation whatsoever. All she'd done was call off that stupid tryst she had with _him_, because suddenly _he_ had jumped to priority number one.

No more of that. The Hermione Granger of old was back. She was back at school, she felt fresh, and she would work, work, work until it was as if she hadn't missed any class at all. And the first thing she was going to do, right now? Give Ron and Harry an explanation. She knew that had either of them been in her shoes, she would've been out of her mind with worry if they'd disappeared. She owed this to them, no matter how difficult it was to tell them that she'd run off with their arch-nemesis.

Getting dressed she made her way down to breakfast, hoping that they would be there. As far as she knew, both of them had decided to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas break, and after much deliberation, Hermione had decided she couldn't go home either. Not now. She could use these few weeks to renew a good friendship with her friends, to catch up on her work, and mostly to forget about him.

It was odd, now that she realized that her feelings were a lot deeper than just sex. She'd dropped the "relationship" because she'd realized she didn't want to taint a first love with just a physical relationship. He took it in good fun; suddenly, it meant a lot more to her than just that. And she wanted no part of it, because she knew perfectly well he didn't reciprocate any feelings of the sort. He was closed off; he wouldn't share his heart with anyone.

Hermione had been so lost in her thoughts she hadn't realized she'd already made it to the breakfast table. Luckily both Harry and Ron sat at the nearly-empty table. A quick glance around the Great Hall told her that most of the students had gone home for Christmas break. She couldn't help it; she snuck a long look at the Slytherin table. He wasn't there. She breathed a sigh, but she wasn't sure if it was of relief or of disappointment.

It was for the best that Draco wasn't there. It was the easiest way to ease him from her thoughts. Turning her attention to her friends, she gave a cheery, "Good morning, boys!"

"Hermione," Harry smiled warmly at her. "Are you feeling any better?"

She slipped into a seat by them and helped herself to some breakfast. "Oh, yes, loads. I was just exhausted yesterday."

Hermione unexpectedly remembered all the vicious insults thrown her way yesterday. "I didn't want to come in here," she explained, "because every time I did, people said some really awful stuff."

Ron swallowed whatever was in his mouth and began to speak in earnest. "The rumors, they aren't true are they?"

A prick of anger passed through her veins, but she swallowed it down. All he was looking for was reassurance; he knew of course that they weren't true…whatever they were. Hermione realized she didn't exactly know what was being said about her. "What are the rumors?"

Harry and Ron shared an uneasy look. "There are a lot of rumors," Ron finally began.

"Yeah, you know Hogwarts, there are an insane amount of rumors here. I'm sure most people know they aren't true," Harry added.

"Just tell me what they are," Hermione snapped. "I can take them. Honestly. The things people believe at this school are absolutely ridiculous."

"Well…there's one that says Malfoy took you to get the Dark Mark," Ron sighed. "And that the two of you are now Death-Eaters and you were away on your initiation."

"Hardly," Hermione snorted. "I hope you two dispelled that."

"We're trying to dispel them all," Harry assured her. "Anyhow that one is just ludicrous. Everyone knows how much you've helped in the Order, honestly…"

"Well, if that's the ludicrous one," Hermione said, a knot of anxiety tugging at her stomach, "what are the believable ones?"

"Well, we don't believe them of course," Ron started.

"Then why did you ask me if they were true or not?" Hermione bit out, unable to control herself.

"Look, I'm sorry," Ron sighed, "but it did look like it was true for a moment. But of course it isn't," he added hastily at Harry's glare, "of course it's not. Basically…a lot of people were saying…" he trailed off and looked to Harry for support.

"That you were Malfoy's…whore," Harry said uncomfortably, "and you went with him to give away any information on your friends in return for his, ah, affections."

"What?" Hermione demanded. "How could you even believe that I would ever sell you two out for…for…sex?!" she finally spat. The roar behind her ears was louder than it had ever been before, because one part of that…one part of that was true. She was his whore, and he was hers. She had been, she corrected herself, there would be no more.

"We didn't," Harry touched her arm gently. "Some people also believed that ah, you and Malfoy had… er, done things at school…which required you to leave for a bit so…you could, er, either have your baby or abort it."

Hermione shook her head derisively. "Idiots," she scowled. "I hope you two didn't believe that."

"No, not at all," Ron said a little too quickly. "It's just that, people bought it because of all the wizarding robes that hide, um, pregnancies, and…abortions and pregnancies are pretty rare among teenagers in our world…you know, because of all the contraceptive charms; nothing of the sort is heard of here at Hogwarts."

"Right," Hermione sighed. "Well, I promise there was no baby, no Dark Mark, no selling of secrets for sex."

"Hermione," Harry smiled, "Ron and I would really appreciate if you could tell us, exactly why you left…and why with Malfoy. I know…you were getting a bit friendly with him but…does that mean you'll run away with him?"

"Wait," Ron looked perplexed, "you're friendly with Malfoy?" His expression told her that he had clearly believed the rumor that she'd already heard in the halls—that Malfoy had kidnapped her and tortured her, or something equally violent.

"Well, a bit," Hermione conceded. "Not that much. Look, you want to know the truth? The truth is I was tired of studying and tired of…being so perfect, being such a good girl…I just went out for a bit. That's all."

"We'd believe that," Harry told her, "if you told us exactly what Malfoy has to do with any of that."

Hermione swallowed. What was she supposed to tell them? "The night that I decided to leave, I saw him on his broomstick. It turns out that he was all set to go, too," she lied uneasily, unable to tell them that she'd practically begged for him to come along, "so we just ended up going together. That's it."

"And became friendly in the process," Ron frowned darkly. "Hermione, he's dangerous! I mean, look at his father…"

"He isn't his father, Ron," Hermione glowered. "I think he's an innocent. He doesn't know a thing and all he cares about is himself."

"Selfish prat," Ron muttered.

"We're only inquiring," Harry pacified, as usual, "because we don't want you to get hurt. It's the truth Hermione. His family is a dangerous one, and… no offense, but they're especially dangerous to someone like you. You're my best friend, you're a staunch Gryffindor and fighter against Voldemort, and you're Muggleborn. Three things they _hate_."

Hermione knew Harry was telling the truth, from his perception of Draco Malfoy. "Don't worry," she instructed, "because I can take care of myself. I promise."

"We're just glad to have you back," Ron grinned.

Maybe not that much had changed after all, Hermione thought happily. Maybe she could pick up right where she'd left.

Hermione spent the rest of the morning visiting her professors. She'd swallowed her nervousness and seen every last one of them, including Professor Snape. Needless to say, that one hadn't gone very well. He'd given her a harsh, disapproving glare, only a bit meaner than some of the other professors, save Professor McGonagall, who had only clucked sympathetically. She smiled as she looked at the thick assignments in her hand. Copious amounts of work to be done, and she wasn't complaining because now she had something to keep her occupied.

She worked in the library all afternoon, not even breaking for lunch. Twice Harry and Ron came to check on her and assured that this was still their lovable, hard-working, Hermione they resumed whatever activities they'd planned for themselves.

Just as she was putting the finishing touches on her three-foot long essay on an illegal love potions essay for Professor Snape, she sensed that someone was watching her. Apprehensively, she looked around, but there were only shadows around her. Discomfited, Hermione returned to her work, but she couldn't shake it. Finally she sighed and pushed away the parchment, deciding her attempts were futile. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up and she fidgeted, wishing that it would just end.

And then it did. He prowled over to her table, greeting her with a small smirk. "Hermione."

"Draco," she replied coldly, relieved and angry all at once. How could he terrify her like that? How could she let him get to her?

He sat down ceremoniously next to her. "I see you've begun making up your assignments."

"Yes," Hermione didn't let her surprise show that he was here, talking to her, especially after she told him she wanted out. She knew that was his only interest in her; why was he still here? Was it something to do with that awful dream? Was it about to come true? "I practically had to beg the professors to let me make-up my work. It wouldn't do to get zeroes on all those assignments; my grades would be shot."

He nodded. "They are still important to you."

It wasn't a question; it was a statement. Hermione shrugged. "Of course. They'll always be important to me."

He didn't say anything, only pulled a book out of his cloak and begun to read. Stunned, Hermione simply watched him for a few moments and then decided that she might as well work on her assignments. Still, she couldn't help thinking of him every few seconds and glance over at him. He continued to read, not looking up once. The only movement he made was to brush his hair away from his eyes every few minutes.

Finally she worked the nerve to ask something that had been bothering her since he'd sat down. "Why are you here?"

He looked up and Hermione thought she could read him again. It was the second time in the last two days that she'd thought she understood, if just for half a second, what he was thinking. And right now he was thinking, "I've been waiting for you to ask me that."

"I have to talk to you," he finally said. "Not here."

"Then where?" she protested. "This place is quiet, and empty. Madame Pince is in her office. There aren't any other students here… and wait," she suddenly recalled, "it's Christmas break! I thought you went home!"

"I didn't want to," he answered shortly. "I thought I'd had enough of Lucius yesterday; I don't want to spend the next few weeks with him either."

"Well, what about your mother?" she questioned.

"What about her?" His expression was blank but Hermione could, just maybe (if she wasn't mistaken) detect by the tone that he did care about the woman in question.

"Well, don't you want to see her?"

"Don't you want to see yours?" he reciprocated.

He had her there. She smiled at him warmly. "Well, I'm sorry for pressing," she said lightly.

"Look, honestly, I've got to talk to you," he sighed. "All right, here is fine, but, Potter and Weasley won't come in will they?"

Hermione considered. "I don't think so," she finally answered honestly. "They've come in twice but each time I've been immersed in my books…and I think they mentioned something about wanting to visit Zonko's…they may be in Hogsmeade."

"Zonko's?" He raised an eyebrow at her. "It's not a Hogsmeade weekend."

"I know," she smiled, "but they've got a way to get to Hogsmeade regardless. A silly, careless thing to do on their part, but I suppose they were bored."

He shook his head in disbelief. "Idiots," he scowled. "Anyhow…I apologize for not telling you earlier."

Immediately she was on alert. "Telling me what?" she asked sharply.

He looked down. Hermione wondered if he was afraid that she'd be able to tell how he felt. Why was he so afraid of letting people know? Why did he act like he was a cold, unfeeling person? Everyone had feelings, and Hermione, although not as naïve as she once was, was puzzled as to why he just wouldn't share.

He'd share his body with her but he couldn't share an expression of disgust? Of sorrow? Of pity?

"The other day, you remember when I gave you a cigarette?"

She nodded, and numbness began to swiftly seep into her body.

"Well…it wasn't a cigarette."

She inhaled and gazed at him piercingly. She couldn't, wouldn't understand. He wouldn't betray her like that, would he? Deliberately lie to her? About something she put in her body? "Then what was it?" she finally managed.

"A wizard drug wrapped up in something similar to a cigarette." He didn't flinch as he spoke it; didn't look perturbed at all. "If you'd ever had a cigarette before you would've realized it wasn't one."

"I've smelled them," she protested, hot embarrassment tinting her features, "It smelled like one."

"Yeah. It's charmed to do that."

"But…but why?!" she finally cried out, losing her control for a moment. This couldn't be happening. What had she done to herself? What had this drug done?! One cigarette wouldn't kill you; but one whiff of a powerful wizard drug could do that. What had it been?!

"Cigarettes don't make you high," he told her seriously. "And this drug—DX, it's called on the streets—it makes you really high, but for only a short period of time. Because what it's really meant to do," he stopped for a second before going on, "is to give you dreams."

Her dreams came rushing back to her. An evil Draco Malfoy showing her a wall with "mudblood" written on it. Draco telling her he wanted to show her something. Draco with eyes so malevolent she shuddered to remember them. "The dreams," she repeated. "What do they show?"

"Your fears."

She was afraid of him. How was that even possible? Merlin she loved this boy, and at the same time she was frightened of him? What was wrong with her? "What kind of fears?" she didn't let anything on. She couldn't let him know. And if it showed her fears, how come she wasn't dreaming of Voldemort taking over the school and killing people left and right?

"The kind that pertain to you, only. Like for example you wouldn't dream of a massacre or anything because it isn't just your fear. If it's a fear that belongs exclusively to you—if it's a fear you want to hide—you'll dream about it. It's not a drug people take intentionally, except a few who don't mind the dreams in return for that short high. It's not very addictive, however."

"Why would you do this?" she said softly, burying her head in her hands. She'd had him pegged all wrong…all wrong. She had thought he was innocent; he only cared about himself; he'd never hurt her.

Maybe Dumbledore and Ron were right. He was too dangerous. Granted, it wasn't a life-threatening thing that he'd done, but it proved that he was capable of much more than she'd originally thought.

"Hermione," his voice was barely a whisper, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You never told me why," she snapped, disregarding his apology. "Why?"

"Because…" he faltered, "I wanted to scare you."

She'd given her heart to an immature, untrustworthy, slimy Slytherin prat. She knew it now. He hadn't changed at all. They were right. Everyone else was right. She was wrong; she had been blinded. She was an idiot. Without sparing him a glance she told him to get out.

"You didn't ask me why I wanted to scare you," he remonstrated.

"I don't care," she spat. "If you don't leave right now I'll hex you. I'm serious. I know plenty of them and I'll make sure that when I'm through nobody will recognize you." It hurt her to say these things, because she thought she'd outgrown them, but obviously not. Not when Draco was just such a bloody idiot.

"I wanted to scare you," he sighed, "because…because I wanted you to hate me."

Hermione had been trying to ignore him but at these words she looked up in surprise. "What?"

"I knew you'd dream about me…you had to fear me. Everyone does, at one point or another. Some constantly do. And…I thought it would make you hate me. I was just waiting for it to happen. I thought it happened yesterday when you called it off."

"I called it off for an entirely different reason!" Yes. The exact opposite reason, in fact. Of course she wasn't about to tell him, however, that she'd called it off because she loved him. "And anyway," she continued, looking at him dangerously, "if you wanted me to hate you, why in Merlin's name are you sitting here explaining it all to me?"

Draco didn't say anything for a moment. Finally he spoke, quite simply. "You're the first person to make me feel guilty."

He departed with an elegant swish of his robes before she could regain her ability to speak. She didn't even know what to think; let alone what to say. If earlier she'd been puzzled about him, now she was downright confused. And in the middle of all of it were her teenage hormones, telling her to fuck him, to love him, to hate him, to want him, to love him some more…

Well, she thought forlornly, it did prove one thing. He definitely could feel.

A/N: See? It didn't take me forever to update! Well, I know I got a ton of responses that say, you don't get high off of a cigarette. I know, I know…and I've had this planned so I didn't want to say anything. Don't worry. There will be more talk about DX and stuff. But this was kind of crucial in the Draco/Hermione relationship. Anyway, tell me what you thought of this chapter.

And if you want to be on the mailing list for this story, please leave your e-mail in a review!


	12. The Day Before

Purely Physical Chapter 12

The rest of winter break seemed to evaporate in front of her eyes. Christmas Day came and went quickly. She spent time with her boys, spoke with her parents, finished up her make-up work, exchanged presents, and did her best to stop thinking about the completely confusing boy she was obsessed with.

And now it was the last day before the semester started. Many people were already back at school, and the corridors were loud and noisy. Hermione wasn't sure if she really liked that; she had enjoyed the peace and quiet, not to mention the reprieve from all the gossip.

Luckily for her gossip was a fickle thing. It had been a good three weeks since she'd returned, and most of her classmates had gone home and had a wonderful time and forgotten all about some petty school gossip. She was no longer the center of attention. Now perhaps they were discussing Zacharias Smith and Ginny Weasley's little rendezvous in the middle of the corridor (Ron was _steaming_), or if Seamus Finnegan really was a fruit, and if so did he have something with Terry Boot from Ravenclaw? Hermione had to laugh to herself at the audacity of these rumors. Seamus Finnegan was most certainly not a fruit—not from the lewd and horribly teenager way that he observed his female classmates—and Terry Boot had been dating Lisa Turpin for the last two years.

She had risen early; it was only seven in the morning and her friends probably weren't even up. Just as she was idly flicking through her closet, noticing that she really didn't have anything that she liked very much, Ron burst into her Head Girl quarters. She spun around, startled. "Ron!"

"Hermione," he gasped. "it's happened."

Even though she still asked, "What?" she knew what. It was that mysterious something big they always talked about. Voldemort was going to do something, somewhere, somehow. And perhaps now he had. Worriedly she followed him quickly down to the common room which was thankfully deserted.

Harry was on the couch, clutching his scar with one hand and the Daily Prophet with his other. "Look at this," he shoved the paper in her face.

Hermione scanned the article, her shock deepening with every word she read.

MINISTER OF MAGIC MURDERED, the headlines screamed.

_Last night the renowned Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, was found dead in his sleeping quarters. The Dark Mark was found hovering above his home in the Wizarding Estates. Aurors have deduced that there was no struggle; apparently the Minister was completely unaware of such a horrendous attack. A day of mourning has been set…_

Hermione stopped reading and looked up at the boys, her face ashen. "I can't believe it," she finally staggered. She had _met_ this man. She _knew_ him. She'd seen him. She'd seen him walk and talk and breathe and _be_ and…he was dead? How could…true, she didn't like him… but… to know someone that died…how awful…

"Avada Kedavra," Harry sighed. "Obviously Voldemort's work."

"This is ridiculous," Hermione said fearfully. "A brilliant move on Voldemort's part; he'll terrify everyone! How in the world could he get to Fudge? Fudge was so protected!"

"I know," Ron cut in miserably, "but Fudge didn't believe that he was back, did he?"

"He had to! He's been back two years!" Harry cried. "Fudge wasn't that much of an idiot, he knew about the skirmishes here and there and the weird muggle deaths every now and then. He knew!"

"Then why didn't he protect himself?" Ron roared, and suddenly everything got quiet.

The noise had woken the house up, as people began trickling down the stairs. "Oy, what's going on?" Dean Thomas looked sleepy.

"Fudge's been murdered," Harry replied shortly.

The news chilled everyone, Hermione was sure, as all the sleepy looks disappeared. "Murdered?" Parvati Patil echoed.

Harry pointed at the newspaper article. "Hedwig brought my mail early today," he explained. "I'm sure you will all hear of it at breakfast."

And with that he stomped out of the room. Ron made a move to go after him but Hermione held him back. "No," she argued, "he needs his space. Ron…I can't even begin to explain how I feel…but think about how Harry feels. Harry knows so many people that died. He really does. It…it must be awful. We've got to be especially sympathetic round him."

Ron nodded almost imperceptibly. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

And he too walked out of the room.

Hermione knew Ron wouldn't go after Harry but suddenly she realized she was stuck in a room full of curious people. Slipping out herself she made her way to her quarters and sat down on the bed, not knowing what to think.

How could she have forgotten about Voldemort? Sometimes he truly took a backseat in her mind. How could she be debating about dalliances with Draco and finishing up her schoolwork when people were dying? How could she have forgotten? Was that normal?

Hermione wished desperately that she had a normal life then. She wished she'd never heard of stupid magic or stupid Voldemort or stupid house-elves. Being a muggle was so much easier.

Or was it? She knew some who would argue differently, primarily people like Draco Malfoy. He certainly respected and milked his bloodline for all it was worth. And honestly, it did get him by.

Hermione didn't know what to do. How was she supposed to react? She did feel sad and weird and… oh, God, she never really knew anyone that died like that. It was fourth year all over again when Cedric Diggory had died and although Hermione had only spoken to the boy once, no one knew how horrible his death had been on her. Hermione _hated_ death. It was part of the reason why she'd never leave Harry's side, the poor boy had been through so much and he'd seen so much rot and so much disgust!

Time seemed to be at a standstill. She couldn't stop thinking about Fudge. What was Fudge doing that day? What was the last thing he heard, the last thing he felt, the last thing he dreamt? Was his wife upset? Did he have any children that he'd left behind?

She felt sick. She wanted to throw up, but she hadn't eaten anything, so it wasn't of any use. Finally she left her room, right before lunch, and bumped into Lavender in the hallway. "Hermione," Lavender greeted with a small smile.

"Hello, Lavender," Hermione wasn't in the mood for small talk.

Apparently Lavender wasn't either. She brushed past Hermione and quickly made her way down the hall. It was obvious she was in a hurry.

As she walked down the hall she also bumped into some hurrying Hufflepuffs and Euan Abercrombie, a younger year. All of them seemed to be heading to the same thing.

Just as she was finally growing utterly curious she saw Harry making his way down the hall. "What's going on?" she asked.

He seemed surprised to see her. "What do you mean?" he demanded.

"What is all this?" Hermione gestured around her. "Where's everyone rushing off to?"

"To the emergency D.A. meeting that you called, obviously!"

Hermione was, needless to say, a little surprised to hear this. "I didn't call any DA meeting!" she protested. "Anyhow we didn't bother keeping up with the DA after fifth year anyway! And… lots of the people I saw weren't even _in_ it!"

Harry looked puzzled. "Are you sure? Hedwig just handed me an owl from you—which was strange enough—but it was in your handwriting and everyone who wanted to support Dumbledore was to go to the room of requirement. Just like fifth year. And discreetly, as well, but I suppose if you noticed then it wasn't all that discreet. Everyone was going because… of the horrific news this morning. You missed Dumbledore's speech; the memorial services if anyone wants to attend are on Saturday and he's given all sixth and seventh years leave for that day. Hey… if you didn't call the meeting, then who did?"

"That's what I want to know," Hermione sighed grimly. "This is just ridiculous. Let's go see the idiot behind all this, shall we?"

Together they trekked their way to the room of requirement… which certainly didn't look like a meeting place. People milled about, but Hermione noticed that the environment wasn't friendly. The person who'd called the meeting did not have good intentions, it seemed. In fact…by the dark demeanor of the room, combined with it's thicker walls…it seemed like…

Oh no.

"Everyone," Hermione called helplessly at the top of her lungs. "I don't want the meeting here! Let's leave, RIGHT NOW!"

Perhaps the urgency in her voice wasn't enough because people seemed to be taking their own sweet time in leaving. She was so convinced that something bad was going to happen. The atmosphere reeked with the smell of something ominous. "Get out," she prodded, but her voice was drowned out by a loud chatter.

Turning to Harry worriedly she was shocked to find him gone. Perhaps he'd already left? Finally Hermione desperately cast a spell in the air. Something harmless, but enough to scare everyone as water began to spurt from the cracks in the wall and girls shrieked as they got a bit wet.

Finally everyone was out of the room. Removing her spell Hermione cast one dark glance around the room, shivered, and left. Who knew? Maybe she was being really paranoid, but she couldn't help it. She just felt something…something was wrong.

Now that they were all out in the corridor, Hermione addressed the group. "I didn't call a meeting," she explained, "so I'm sorry—there is nothing I can do. I hope you all will help out in the best way possible…but I'm not the leader of this group."

She'd definitely changed since her fifth year. There was no way she could lead a group against Voldemort now; no, she was becoming more afraid. Preposterous. What the hell was she doing in Gryffindor anyway?

The sorting hat couldn't decide for her. It had taken its own sweet time as it mulled over Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Gryffindor. Of course she had read about all four houses and immediately whined and said there was no way she would ever be in Slytherin. The hat had proclaimed her overly ambitious and somewhat cunning; she would have fit in very well. Perhaps her persistency and urge to argue with that hat had constituted as bravery, because even though she was sure the hat would yell out Slytherin just to spite her it had chosen Gyrffindor.

Thank Merlin. She would've died if she were in Slytherin; they'd have mauled her to death by now.

Clearing her head Hermione stepped out of the room, still puzzled and frankly very scared. Making sure that everyone else had dispersed—including Harry, where had he gone off to?—she stepped back into the Room of Requirement, and met face to face with a girl she'd barely seen in the last few years.

"Millicent," Hermione nervously nodded.

"Hermione Granger. Gyrffindor through and through," Millicent replied, not without a vicious edge in her voice.

Hermione smiled faintly; if only Millicent knew what she had just been contemplating. "I suppose," she shrugged the comment off awkwardly. "I take you called this?"

"Hmm…and failed, miserably, thanks to your cunning."

Hermione was slightly taken aback. Perhaps her view of Slytherins had really been limited to three people: Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy. Malfoy—horrid, mean, enigmatic, nancy boy, but smart. Crabbe and Goyle—horrendously stupid. Perhaps she'd assumed that everyone save Draco was stupid in Slytherin…but Millicent certainly didn't seem to be.

When Hermione didn't respond Millicent sighed softly. "I was so very sad to hear of our dear minister's death," she began.

Fighting the urge to laugh, Hermione nodded tentatively. "As was I…but Millicent, why on earth would you wish to call people under my name? If you want to arrange for people to meet and discuss ways to overcome, er…You-Know-Who, then why can't you do so on your own? Why would you involve me?"

Millicent laughed derisively. "Surely you didn't believe, even for an instant, that my intentions were good?"

Hermione felt uncomfortable, being put on the spot like that. Finally she just decided to be honest. "I was too surprised to even form an opinion."

"Really?" Millicent grinned. "Let me see. You walked in here, saw from the surroundings that I wasn't about to call a friendly little meaning, used your pretty little head and got everyone out, and then turned to me not knowing what to think? Of course you thought I was behind this! Don't be stupid, Hermione."

Hermione bristled. "And don't be condescending," she replied haughtily. "All right. So what've you done? You called people here for what purpose exactly?"

"I would've done away with them," Millicent said softly, "had you not interfered. And you would be the first to go."

"Oh, please," Hermione snapped, although she was definitely shaken, "as if a seventh-year student could take on so many others."

"Certainly," Millicent gestured around the room, "A few Unforgivables could take care of that, no?"

"I haven't the time to deal with this," Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to go, sure she could figure something out later. Perhaps Millicent was all-talk and nothing else. Hoping this was the case Hermione stepped toward the door.

Too late. Millicent shut it with a simple swish of her wand. "You aren't going anywhere."

"I don't want to have to do this," Hermione turned back towards Millicent, drawing her wand in the process. "I really don't."

"_Relashio_!"

"_Stupefy_!"

Hermione's _Stupefy_ met Millicent's curse right in the middle; obviously, Hermione's was stronger because eventually the _Relashio_ was thrust off towards the side and the _Stupefy_ hit her full-on.

The minute the spell hit Millicent Hermione felt awash with guilt. She hadn't just used that spell on a student, had she? Oh why hadn't she used something of lesser… consequence, perhaps Petrificus Totalus?

Nauseated once again Hermione left Millicent unconscious with every intention to go and find a teacher. It didn't matter that she would be blamed—and rightly—for making another student unconscious. No one would believe her if she claimed that Millicent's potential curse would've caused the room to erupt in flames, and would have been rather detrimental to the school in general.

In that split second, bravery deserted her, and she bolted. She had to find Harry or Ron or just anyone that she could talk to. As she started down the hall she bumped straight into someone who for once hadn't been on her mind—and she wasn't pleased to see him. "Draco," she acknowledged briefly, making to move past him.

He smiled, something she might've recorded as strange had she not been so utterly preoccupied with other, more important things. "Hermione."

"I really can't talk," she hedged, once again trying to move past.

Draco would have none of it. "Where are you going?"

She gave up. "I just found Millicent unconscious in the room of requirement. I was off to tell a teacher."

Lying had never come easily to her; never. She could feel a blush touch her cheeks as the words haltingly came out of her mouth. He didn't believe her at all. "You caused Millicent to be unconscious? What'd you do, hit her with a stunning spell?"

Miserably Hermione nodded in the affirmative. "Self-defense," she added, "and it was the first spell that popped into mind… honestly, I'd have used something less…er, harmful, if it had come to me. I'm sorry! I react quickly!"

He laughed. "You don't have to persuade your innocence to me, Hermione. I believe you."

She shivered, feeling suddenly very much at unease. His voice was oily and slick; maybe he was planning something as well. This whole day had been horrible. First Fudge's death, and then Millicent's little drama, and then Draco's oddities…would it never end? "Okay," she agreed, "but I will definitely get into trouble for this. Oh, Merlin, and it's not even like my record's squeaky clean!"

"Don't worry, Dumbledore loves you. You shan't be expelled."

"Expelled!" she gasped. "You can't get expelled for hitting someone with a stunning spell, can you?!"

"No, of course not, not at all," he assured quickly. "I was just stating that in worst-case scenario. The worst-case scenario for this is that Dumbledore will let the Head of Millicent's House give you a suitable punishment…and you know who that is, don't you?"

"Shit," Hermione swore, as it finally sunk in. "At the mercy of Snape. God, I'm doomed."

Draco grinned. "You'll escape alive and unscathed—for the most part. Now what're we going to do about Millicent?"

"We?" she was puzzled. He was volunteering to help her… because he felt guilty, still, about infusing her mind with DX and giving her nightmares? And how long did these stupid things last anyway?

"Sure, I'll help you, I've nothing better to do," he replied crisply, though not bitingly.

"Er, okay, then." Hermione was determined not to let his behavior get to her. "I was actually going to find Harry and… but I suppose you won't want anything to do with those two?"

Draco frowned, the unease and discomfort evident on his face. Obviously he still didn't have any problem showing his feelings towards Harry and Ron. "Potter and Weasley? You're right. I'd rather not. I won't go with you then, but I suppose if you, er, need anything I'm, er, I'll be around."

He seemed nervous. Shy. Hermione grinned. He was definitely feeling guilty and like he'd admitted, it was new to him, and he didn't know how to go about making amends. "Thank you," she said warmly, trying to put him at ease. "It's not a problem."

Hurriedly she walked down the hallways, deep in thought. Tomorrow the term started—although there was talk about it being pushed back because of Fudge's unexpected death and parents might want to come and visit with their children, or send for them for a bit. But Hermione knew Professor McGonagall would never approve, and Hogwarts would merely give people a week or two to go visit family and attend Fudge's funeral services while continuing schooling for those who did not wish to or could not attend. Hermione wasn't sure whether she wanted to go or not. Funerals were depressing.

And try as she might, Hermione couldn't stop thinking about Draco. She knew it, then. She was in love with him. So in love with him that she felt sick thinking about him and oh she wanted him so very badly. And more than she wanted him she wanted him to want her, confusing as it was. But even more than that she wanted him to open up; to be happy… whether that happiness included her or not. She just… oh, she couldn't even describe it. Sometimes it was euphoric and blissful and sometimes he caused her deep distress that she'd felt adolescent hearts could never experience.

But she did experience it, she certainly did.

And if loving him made her sick and her heart would give pangs every time she saw him in the distance then did she really want him at all? Did cool, collected Hermione want to even acknowledge that she was madly in love with… him?

Could she ever let herself really let go, really go with the flow?

Was she capable of not being in control? Even though she'd gone through so much over the last month—from her first out-of-control-out-of-the-norm running away experience to DX to Draco Malfoy… she still didn't know. Try as she might, sometimes she just couldn't figure out who she was.

A/N: Not exactly a cliffy or an interesting place to stop I know but I felt it fit for now. Chapter lacks in major Draco/Hermione interaction but next chapter I will try to focus solely on them; can't promise a thing. Blame the muse ;). I've decided to add more plot to the story, for me, that makes it more plausible because Hermione cannot always be thinking about Draco; it kind of bores me to have to write just about that. But don't worry romance-lovers… umm this is still principally a romance. Just with plot.

Ok what else… thank you all soo very much for your soo very lovely reviews! I'm sorry the chapter was so damned late in getting out… but I have copious amounts of schoolwork combined with managing my school's cross country team not to mention lovely standardized tests and the scrap of a social life I have to maintain… and of course my creative writing class. But enough bitching. I apologize for being late and sincerely hope it won't happen again.

Anyway leave the e-mail and specify if you want to be on the mailing list in your review…speaking of, please do…I love knowing what you people thought about the story.


	13. The Trouble with Love

Purely Physical Chapter 13

A/N: Holy bleep , I'm updating! Sorry kids. 1st semester was a real bitch but now that it's over I can finally update some stuff.

_The trouble with love is_

_it can tear you up inside_

_make you heart believe a lie_

_it's stronger than your pride_

_the trouble with love is_

_it doesn't care how fast you fall_

- The Trouble With Love Is, by Kelly Clarkson

"Thank God," Ron declared firmly as the trio headed to The Three Broomsticks for some butterbeer. "I thought I was going to absolutelydie this past week."

"I know. If it hadn't been a Hogsmeade weekend…" Harry trailed off, looking positively exhausted.

"You two would have come here anyway," Hermione finished the sentence for him. It was true. The two had never been much for rules and often roped in Hermione with their little schemes.

"That is true," Ron agreed. "Three butterbeers please," he said as they stepped into the toasty warm atmosphere. February was no warmer than January had been, except perhaps that the moods were lighter.

Last month had been the month from hell. The first week of January, they had all attended Fudge's funeral. It had been a sad, somber affair, except there had been one rather large beacon of hope. None other than Arthur Weasley had been appointed the next minister of magic, and although Molly Weasley had been awfully worried for her husband's safety, even that did not put a damper on the family's joy.

Since then Ron had grown newfound confidence and rarely resorted to using his fists. Of course there were occasions in which fistplay did result, but after all, it was Ron, and old habits die hard.

Surprisingly, Hermione mused as she sipped her warm butterbeer, the change in Arthur's position had had a strange effect on Ginny Weasley. Ginny, normally bubbly and vivacious, had turned strangely quiet and hardly ever spoke. Ron had tried to no avail to get her to cheer up again, but she wouldn't.

Hermione made up her mind to have a chat with Ginny and see if perhaps she would open up to Hermione, if only for the fact that Hermione was another girl and could maybe relate better.

The three of them sat around, chatting, glad for the break. Studies this term were grueling, and if you added in the death of Cornelius Fudge, numerous Muggle deaths courtesy of Voldemort, and the fact that a war was brewing on the horizon, the result was a very stressful time indeed.

"So, Hermione," Ron gestured. "What do you think of Harry's new interest?"

Hermione laughed, her eyes sparkling. "Harry, you're after someone else now? Who?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno what Ron's on about," he said defensively. "I haven't got my eye on anyone right now. There's no time!"

"Don't lie," Ron chided. "I know the way you look at her! I'm sure she'll go for you, oh-Mr.-I'm-so-great Harry Potter, Lord of the Lightning Scar!"

"Ron, shut up," Harry replied shortly, half-joking, half-serious. Hermione knew it was because even after all these years, Harry was rather touchy about his fame and the way girls threw themselves at him.

"Never mind what Ron says," Hermione continued, brushing aside Ron's jabs, "I want to know who you fancy. Come on, spill."

"Only if you tell me who you like," Harry grinned impishly. "Come on, Hermione. You've never divulged that information to Ron or me."

Ron made a face. "You don't need to share that anyway," he took a large swig of butterbeer, "because I honestly don't care."

"Not this again!" Hermione hated when they squabbled over silly things like this, but Ron always had a nasty habit of bringing out the worst of everything. "Harry, we are not talking about this because Ron isn't mature enough to handle it."

"Fine whatever," Harry shrugged. "Let's go to Zonko's. I want to stock up on some items," he changed the subject.

But Hermione was in no mood to peruse a joke shop at the moment. Harry had brought up a question which she spent quite a lot of time dwelling on, but was not able to find a good answer. "You guys go ahead," she told her friends, "I'm off to a bookshop."

"Bookworm Granger," the two of them teased her simultaneously. "All right, you," Ron said by ways of make-up, "we'll see you later. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Very funny, Ron, now what exactly does that exclude?" Harry teased and the boys left.

Hermione stared after the two for a moment before making her way through the cold snow to a nice, cozy little bookshop. It was in a little nook, and if you didn't look closely, you might miss it. But Hermione had discovered it at the beginning of her sixth year and her voracious appetite for books kept her coming back for more. The tiny shop, owned by a tiny man and his wife, had a large collection of books that Hermione couldn't get enough of.

Not once had she ever seen another Hogwarts student here. The shop, simply named _Pages_, offered warmth and comfort and most of all escape. A good form of escape, Hermione thought to herself, remembering her December adventure a couple of months ago. Time had passed since then…but things between Draco and her were still the same.

At times she really hated him. He was a first-class jerk arsehole idiot prat fool, she'd think, but then she would look at his beauty and the harsh words would melt away to reveal a soft-spoken core of love. She couldn't help it. She loved him still, and had a feeling she'd always love him no matter how he treated her.

Mind you, it wasn't badly. But it wasn't nicely either. The last time she'd had sex with him had been during their runaway, which had been a while ago. That was the last time she'd ever really done anything with him. Now, the best word to describe their relationship was cordial. They were affable acquaintances. They didn't hate each other, but didn't love each other.

They spoke occasionally, when they brushed each other in the hall or something. In the first few weeks after the Millicent debacle, Hermione had been so worried that he would bring it up, but he never had…it was almost if it had faded away. Like the ocean tide was lapping at the shore, but now it never came out far onto the beach. She never could feel him anymore, only see him in the distance.

She wanted something to happen between them. Something that would put this whole standstill thing off and push it in one direction or the other. Of course she wished that it would push her relationship with him into a conventional, boyfriend-girlfriend sort of thing, but she doubted it would happen. Nothing about Draco or Hermione was conventional, after all. What had started as rough, passionate, stress-relieving sex had slowly morphed into nothing at all. Maybe there wasn't any passion left. Maybe he'd found another way to release his tension.

Hermione wanted to talk to him about it. She was aware that it was a girly thing to do; that maybe he wouldn't take to it very well, but she couldn't help but want to tell him how she felt. When you love someone so badly, you want them to know, even if you know that they'll only snub you.

For the last few months, Hermione had held it in, but she knew she wouldn't be able to for very much longer. She didn't care about the sex with him anymore. Lots of girls' fantasies revolved around the X-rated material, the fleshy, carnal desires, but not Hermione. Hermione liked to think of his warm, protective hand slipping over her own. Hermione liked to think of the taste of his lips in a chaste, sweet kiss. Hermione liked to think of the brilliant conversations they would have, the intellectual stimulation that he would provide.

So what if she was different? She couldn't help it. She loved him through his flaws; through his uncertainty; through his unreadable, enigmatic actions. He was so confusing, and she hated that, but at the same time it made him all the more endearing.

Just as she was speculating over him, he strolled quite amicably into her spot. Her bookstore. She nearly screamed with shock. Never before she had met anyone from Hogwarts in here, and now to see him…?! Was it fate? Was it coincidence? Nervously Hermione hid behind a bookshelf. She wasn't sure why exactly she was hiding, all she knew was that now was not a good time to face him.

It didn't matter, because he walked with a purpose, and she knew that purpose was to find her. "Hermione," his voice came low, "I know you are in here. Come on."

So she stepped out, trying to swallow her fear and her love, trying to show him that she was just as aloof as he was. "what is it?"

He held out his hand. "Let's talk," he suggested. "Let's go back to the school. There is no one there."

She did not take it, but agreed. "Fine. I'll meet you in the library, then. In five minutes."

"Don't be silly," he reproved, and grabbed her hand. "You'll come with me. Let's just go through the passageway through Honeydukes. It's faster."

She agreed but it wasn't like she had much of a choice. She wondered if his tight grip counted as that warm, protective, tender hand-holding that she craved. Maybe. It wasn't as if what she really wanted would ever work out. As she stumbled along behind him, she had to blink back tears as she remembered the last time she really talked to him.

Because she _knew_ he wasn't worth this much pain.

No one was worth this! No one was worth spending all night trying to figure out who he was, no one was worth all the sweat and tears she had put in him, no one was worth Hermione's heart…no one that would tear it in two, and she was pretty sure he would. Hermione _knew_ he wasn't mature enough for her. She _knew_ he wouldn't give her what she wanted, and all the same, she was still enamored with him.

Soon they were sitting secluded in Hogwarts' library. Even Madame Pince was nowhere to be found. "What is it?" Hermione demanded tersely, not wanting to let him know just how deeply she felt about him. Not yet.

"Well…I was hoping you could help me out," he replied evasively. Hermione stared at him. He looked the same as always. Exquisitely crafted, pale, blond, tall, slender, beautiful…

"With what?" She couldn't help that her tone sounded suspicious. After all it wasn't as if they talked often.

"Well, it's nearly Valentine's Day…and I figure I ought to buy my mother something. To make up for the… mess I've made this year," he looked her straight in the eyes, and Hermione could almost hear him asking, "dare me to tell if I'm lying to you".

Because she was pretty sure he was. He couldn't be serious. He would seek her out to ask help for a gift? And wasn't he the master of such things? "Roses, maybe," she responded, feeling a little out-of-sorts. "A box of chocolates. A subscription to a favorite magazine."

"Okay."

His response was so laconic, so unemotional, that Hermione felt herself go cold. Was this possible? What was he doing to her? "Look, Draco," she started quickly, "I don't know what your deal is. You're infuriating! Please don't tell me you purposely sought me out so that you could ask what to get your mother for Valentine's Day. Do you even believe in that nonsense?"

He licked his lips. "Fine," he said bitterly, "you caught me. I just wanted to talk to you. We haven't spoken in a while."

"Maybe that's the way I like things to be," she bit back. She didn't know why Draco was able to do this, but he was certainly very good at pissing her the hell off.

"Good," he sounded cold and angry for just a split-second before returning to the look of placidity that she was used to. "Good."

He left so fast that Hermione almost felt like she had dreamed up the entire conversation. All five minutes of it, at least. What was his problem? Why did he have to be such an insufferable prat, for lack of a better word?

Because she was in the library, and because even after all the changes she'd been through she was still the same Hermione, Hermione started to work on a Charms essay, in hopes of pushing him out of her mind. Hopefully, for good.

-----

_I wanted you to hate me_. Draco had said those words to her once, and they had made her feel so angry, so mad at him for ever saying something like that. Hot droplets of love sailed down her face in anger as she cried herself to sleep. No matter how much she tried now, she couldn't hate him. She just couldn't.

That night she dreamed again, a DX-induced dream featuring an evil Draco Malfoy trying to kill her. When she woke up she was scared out of her wits and could barely breathe for fear that the dream would become reality.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Parvati asked as she slipped on her robes. "You're up late for one, and secondly, you look terrified."

"I had a bad dream," Hermione sighed, not untruthfully. "I'm awfully tired. I don't want to go to class today. In fact, I think I won't."

"What?" Lavender gasped. "Hermione! Today is major, major NEWT review in Potions of all classes! You cannot possibly skip!"

"I can, and I will," Hermione replied resolutely, although a worried shiver gnawed at her stomach.

"suit yourself," Parvati shrugged although she looked surprised, "but you will regret it, sweetie. I promise."

"You're right," Hermione acknowledged, "but I am feeling downright horrid and there is no way you're dragging me to Snape's dungeon."

"Fine then," her roommates agreed, "but we will drag you to Madame Pomfrey. No ifs, ands, or buts."

So that was how Hermione found herself alone in bed, in the hospital ward, utterly and completely bored. Madame Pomfrey had fussed over her like anything. "Darling, you look completely shaken," she tut-tutted to herself. "I don't know what the matter is, but you're also turning awfully cold."

It was true. As the day progressed, Hermione's skin was kissed colder and colder, until it was positively frigid. Perhaps she was really getting sick. How unfortunate, she thought sarcastically, since so many people would miss her and everything. Harry and Ron paid her a visit during lunch.

"We hope you feel better," they chorused, and left her a pile of chocolate frogs to devour. Ron had even brought along a few jokes from Fred and George, but Hermione was miserable enough to not even want to look at them.

Right before dinner, Ginny stopped by, something that was surprising enough in itself. Ginny, who had become increasingly withdrawn since her father's promotion, actually talking was quite strange. "Hello, Hermione," she said quietly.

Hermione smiled back at a girl she once considered her friend.

"Listen, I know I've been acting really weird lately," Ginny began. "It's just… it's just…"

"What is it?" Hermione asked sharply, perhaps too sharply. Immediately she softened her voice. "What is it?" she repeated.

"I know everyone thinks it's all to do with Dad's new position, but it's really not," Ginny explained. And suddenly she laughed. "You'll think it's silly."

"No, I won't," Hermione promised. Silly? Somehow she didn't think anything was silly anymore. You couldn't help thinking about strange stuff, thinking about boys, thinking about how much they absolutely sucked… "Go on," Hermione prompted.

"Well, it's just…" Ginny trailed off. "This is hard to say."

"That's all right. You don't have to say if you don't want to," Hermione backed off. Sometimes it was best not to bug someone about something, and then maybe if they felt comfortable, they would actually tell you. Hermione felt guilty for using such a tactic, but she couldn't help it; she was bored, and here Ginny looked like she had something really interesting to spill.

"No, I want to," Ginny insisted firmly. "I've developed a sort of… infatuation, I suppose, with a certain Slytherin."

Hermione's heart stopped for a second, and then all of a sudden her heartbeat intensified. Perhaps she could relate a lot better to Gin's story than she had originally thought…and then Ginny continued.

"I'm…I fancy myself in love with Draco Malfoy."

Amazingly, the first thought that came to Hermione's head wasn't something along the lines of how it could be possible, or how much she hated Ginny to say that, or even why Ginny felt that way… it was just a simple, wry, reflection on how Ginny had taken the words right out of her mouth.

A/N: I hope you all liked it! I'll try to update faster, I really will! Please review and tell me what you thought. I guess last chapter wasn't too awesome because I didn't really get very many reviews, but that is okay too. I do have a mailing list for this story, so leave your e-mail, with s p a c e s like that because otherwise will cut it off, if you want to be on it. Thanks!

Merry Christmas!


	14. Reconciliation

Purely Physical Chapter 14

Hermione wasn't dreaming about Draco tonight. That was verystrange. She was dreaming about herself tonight… lying in the hospital ward. McGonagall screaming, "Oh heavens, Albus, she's taken DX hasn't she?"

A mumbled response that she couldn't make out, and Madame Pomfrey whispering, "I don't know if we have the right treatment. Oh God. Wizard drugs! I would never have expected…"

"Now, now, Poppy, no one takes DX, they're given it…"

She awoke with a start, shivering. She was so cold, so cold. No matter how many blankets they'd heaped on her, how many heating charms they'd sent her way, she couldn't stop shivering, convulsing into tight little spasms where she thought she would freeze to death. And then to her horror she realized that none of it was a dream. In front of her stood her own Head of House, Professor McGonagall, the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, and of course Madame Pomfrey. Why were they all here? Why? Hermione's head was spinning.

She saw Ginny walking outside with Draco Malfoy, hand in hand. He was kissing her. Not a lustful, I'm-thinking-of-other-more-exciting-things sort of kiss but a kiss that was just a kiss but wasn't just a kiss because it was beautiful and perfect. Ginny was so pretty, Hermione mused, with that mane of long red hair flying behind her in the crispy wind.

Hermione opened her eyes. The image was gone and the worried professors were standing in front of her. Did she dream that? Did she have a vision? Was it real or wasn't it? Suddenly her stomach lurch and she vomited violently over the comforter in front of her.

"She's taken some of it out of her system," Dumbledore crowed. "Oh thank God, Poppy, do a level test."

Hermione didn't know what that was but Pomfrey pointed a wand at her and exclaimed, "they've gone down, oh Merlin, they're down. It'll be fine now, I hope. I've got some of the coriander leaves here."

"Perhaps Snape will brew a Potion with them?" McGonagall suggested. "They're more effective when mixed with…oh damn, I can't recall."

"I'll tell Severus," Dumbledore nodded. "It should be ready by tonight. Hermione will be fine until then."

Hermione could see him drifting away, out of the door. She didn't want him to leave. She wanted to ask this omni prescient Headmaster of hers what exactly was happening to her. "Wait, Professor," she croaked, her voice hoarse, sick, and dry.

He turned immediately. "Hermione child, I've never been so happy you threw up."

Only then did Hermione notice that the mess was gone – one of the professors had done a cleaning spell. "What's happening?" she asked, although it hurt a bit to talk – probably from throwing up. Her throat itched and she was thirsty.

He looked her straight in the eyes, as if willing her to tell him something. "you overdosed on DX, a terribly dangerous drug that principally is associated with the Dark side. Many of Voldemort's supporters abuse it terribly. They give it to their victims, their prisoners, make them cower in terror. It weakens them – and an overdose is usually fatal. You're very lucky you threw up, Hermione. I don't know how you managed that—how you managed to even wake!"

"I thought you saw my eyes open, Professor," Hermione pointed out. The more she talked, the better her voice was getting.

"Yes, but it doesn't mean you were having a scary daydream. I'm sure you were bombarded by a range of nightmares for the last few hours, ranging from the trivial to the really horrific."

Hermione realized the Ginny and Draco moment had certainly been DX-induced. Now, she mused to herself, would she call it trivial or really horrific? She giggled; she didn't know what to think. Was it trivial, or really horrific? She laughed harder. "I'm sorry, Professor," she gingerly began after the attack of the giggles was over. "I don't know what came over me."

"You've been through a lot, dear," he said. "I suggest you just rest. Madame Pomfrey is going to give you something to keep you properly awake – we wouldn't have let you sleep at all if we'd known you were under DX. And at night, we'll have you drink a potion made of coriander leaves; it will help wash the rest of the drug out of your system. But do you think you're strong enough to answer a question for me?"

Hermione nodded.

"DX is a very difficult drug to come by, and of course, quite dangerous. Did you know… that you had been given DX?"

Hermione deliberated the question. If she answered yes, he would most certainly ask who had done it, and Draco would be expelled. As much as he grated on her nerves, as much as it hurt her to think he would do something like this to her (and she hadn't realized the seriousness of DX until just about now), she couldn't bring herself to turn him in. Not when she was still intrigued by the puzzle that he was. "No," she said quietly. "I had no idea."

"We'll have to find out who did it," McGonagall cut in briefly. "If it's a student… he or she will be expelled immediately."

Hermione was sure her panic showed on her face, but she tried to keep calm. "So," she steered the conversation, "DX is associated with the Dark Arts."

"Yes. Usually only those who have access to the Dark Arts have access to the drug…which is why it's vital to find out who's behind this."

Crap. That led them right back to the same dilemma. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became not to tell on Draco. "Well, I just can't think of anyone!" Hermione sighed, but she was an observant girl, and she quickly picked up on the look that Dumbledore had in his eye.

He _knew_. Well, of course he did, because the wizard knew everything under the sun, and Hermione had to admit, sometimes that was rather irritating. But really, it wasn't a very difficult assessment to make. All the evident answers pointed to Draco Malfoy. Did he have relations with Hermione Granger? Check. The whole school knew about their running away. Did he have access to the Dark Arts and possibly a drug like DX? Most certainly. That's what daddies are for, right?

Oh damn. It wouldn't be long before someone figured it out, and Draco was done for. Hermione was having mixed feelings about that. Mostly she didn't want Draco to be in trouble. Probably he didn't know the serious consequences of his silly actions. She considered him an innocent – he really didn't know anything, he just thought it was cool and macho to play around in the Dark Arts. She remembered a muggle saying – "playing with fire". That's what he was doing.

And he didn't know that you could get burned.

If he wasn't careful, that's exactly what could happen. Hermione was vaguely aware of Dumbledore and the other teachers telling her to have a rest, even though it would be awfully boring because Madam Pomfrey had just administered an anti-sleep potion. What a pain, because it gave Hermione plenty of time to dwell on something she'd been trying to avoid.

Ginny. What? How? When? Where? Nobody just decided randomly that they would fancy themselves in love with someone they never talked to! Clearly Ginny had some sort of relationship with Draco. For a wild moment Hermione let her ultimate nightmares, ultimate heart-breaking moments play out. Draco was doing the exact same thing with Ginny. He was sleeping with her, sure, but really, he was actually in love with Ginny, and they had a proper relationship. They had…

Hermione couldn't go on anymore, the thoughts were too painful. Oh, it was awful if such a thing was true! No, it couldn't be. Where would he have the time? But then she realized he did have the time, because she hadn't really seen him except for their strange, weird, occasional encounters.

That was another thing. Whenever they met up, Hermione was so overwhelmed by her emotions that she didn't know how to act! She knew she should be kind and loving and accepting but she couldn't help it, she just got angry and started yelling! Like last time, he had wanted to talk to her about something – god, what! What was up with him! – and she hadn't let him explain. Hadn't coaxed him nicely into telling her. No, she'd thrown a tantrum, yelled at him for being so goddamn secretive, didn't let him say a word before she stomped off.

Maybe Ginny listened.

Because she had a lot of time on her hands, Hermione had soon convinced herself that this was absolutely, completely, and utterly true. Of course it was. How could it not be? She cried and cried, then quickly used a spell to clean up her face so no one would know. Hermione repeated the procedure many times, until there weren't any tears left. Just as she'd finished up the last spell to clean up her face, someone unexpected walked in.

Draco.

Her heart beat increased, so fast she felt she was running a race. She could barely look at him without seeing Ginny's face too. She didn't speak and instead waited for him to tell her that everything that had happened between them had meant absolutely nothing and he'd found his soul mate in Ginny Weasley.

And, they're both pureblood, she thought jealously. Maybe it was her blood or something...she was taking this too far. Ginny was a nice, friendly girl. Maybe she wasn't very close with Hermione, but there was no need for Hermione to think – obnoxious, stupid cow! – bad things about Ginny. Ginny was not an obnoxious, stupid cow. Not at all. No way. And if she had Draco, Hermione would bow out very, very gracefully, so gracefully that nobody would ever know that Hermione was in love with Draco Malfoy.

Turning her attention to Draco she gave him a wan, weak little smile. He looked back at her, steadily, almost bemusedly – just a look. A long look, and the look nearly took her breath away, because she…she understood.

For the first time Hermione had understood him! It was as if she'd had a breakthrough, and she was so euphoric it was all she could do not to leap out from the bed. Oh, he was happy to see her, yes, he was, but he was so scared, so worried, and he had so much to tell her but he wasn't sure how to get the words out because after all he was just a teenage boy and sometimes they really aren't the most eloquent of creatures.

The power of a simple look! She couldn't believe it. Her smile became a mega-watt grin. "Hey," she said softly.

"Hey," he moved closer and took her hand in his.

Hermione was overflowing with happiness. Scratch that, it was more specific than happiness. Happiness could be applied to getting a good grade, too, and this was so much better. She was at a loss for words, but all she could think was that finally one of her good dreams was coming true. Yes, his warm protective hand had slipped over her own, and it was just lovely.

"I hope you're feeling better," he finally said.

"Yeah, loads. Pomfrey gave me this potion to stay awake."

Draco looked down at the floor and Hermione instinctively knew he was very worried. She realized now that Draco had begun to open himself up to her and it was a marvelous feeling. She also knew how difficult it must've been on him to share, since he was an intensely private person.

"Look," he finally grimaced, squeezing her hand. "I'm…I can't even begin to say…oh fuck. Hermione, I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't know…it was just a desperate attempt on my part…"

He trailed off and Hermione's bubble was slightly pricked because she suddenly knew that while she'd made a breakthrough, she was nowhere close to deciphering Draco Malfoy. He was still an enigma. "Why would you want to do that?" she asked. "Why would you possibly want me to hate you?"

"It's…complicated," he replied after a pause. "A weak thing for me to do, I should never have messed with it. I really didn't know. Can you believe that," he gave a wry grin, "I was so fucking naïve I didn't know what a Death Eater drug can do to you."

"It's okay…" she tried to pacify him, but the effect was exactly the opposite of what she wanted. He jerked away from her and took a few steps back.

"But that's the thing, Hermione! It's not okay! You're hurt! You could have died, and then where would I have been? I would not only have lost you, but I'd have a death on my hands, and… oh Merlin, I dunno what to think of that. Lucius would have a field day; he'd probably kill me for being such a fool… or no, he'd just point and laugh, knowing it was simply agony for me to live. Goddamn. Hermione don't die on me please, I don't know what I'd do if someone died on me…"

It was possibly the longest, most emotional speech Draco had ever given her. If she edited a few parts out maybe it could be coined romantic. _I would not only have lost you…Hermione don't die on me please._ Now those were good lines, those she liked. She didn't quite like that the main reason he was afraid of her death was the aftermath and the suffering he'd have to go through – and not just emotional, I-miss-her sort of suffering. More like shit- I'm-in-trouble-with-the-law-and-daddy sort of suffering. But it didn't really matter because she was alive and he was here and it was almost perfect.

They sat in comfortable silence. Hermione remembered a line from a muggle movie she once watched over the summer, about how you knew you'd found someone worth keeping if you could both just sit in a comfortable silence and not have the need to fill it up with idle chitchat. Come to think of it, Hermione smiled to herself, she and Draco almost never talked. Either that meant they were just perfect for one another, or that they weren't suited to each other at all. She rather liked the former better.

"What are you smiling about?" Draco asked giving her a small smirk.

"oh, nothing," she teased.

"Come on, you can tell me. I want to know."

Hermione felt a little awkward but then decided there really wasn't any harm in telling him. "Just how we never really talk… but I don't mind the silence."

He was quiet for a moment, and then he moved his face very close to hers, so they were only inches apart. "I like quiet," he whispered, before leaning down to kiss her.

Never had she experienced a kiss like this. It wasn't a prelude to sex. This was the very first kiss they shared that didn't mean sex. It was a kiss, a beautiful little kiss and Hermione had never been so giddy with love. It was the kind of kiss where you pull away only when you have to breathe and as soon as you have enough air again you can think about it and realize it was the best kiss of your life.

Suddenly the tribulations of the last few months melted away. Fudge's death, Ginny, Voldemort's return, Draco's enigmatic behavior, impending NEWTS—all of it faded away for right now. Right now she could just sit here comfortably, Draco perched on her bed, holding her hand, occasionally leaning down to kiss her. This was just…nice. There wasn't a need for a more complicated word. Nice was enough.

And so they sat, until the real world began niggling at Hermione again. All at once she remembered Ginny and suddenly tensed. Draco noticed immediately.

"What's up?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

She couldn't help it. She was curious, and Hermione was never one to shy away from asking questions. Her inquisitive nature intensified when it involved matters of the heart, so even though she didn't want to ask him, she blurted it out anyway. "What kind of relationship do you have with Ginny Weasley?"

"Ginny Weasley?" he repeated, his face scrunched as he thought about the question. Then all at once, as if she'd pressed a button, it smoothed out and he looked blank and unreadable as ever. Whatever understanding Hermione had gotten was gone; he'd withdrawn himself again.

Merlin. How in the world did he do that? How could he hide himself like that?

"I don't have a relationship with Ginny Weasley," he finally said. "In fact… I don't think I've even talked to her this year."

"Are you sure?" she pressed. Of course she couldn't tell if he was lying or not; yeah right, nobody could read that off of him. She would just have to trust him, and even though she loved him, Hermione wasn't irrational. Trusting Draco was a lot like trusting a snake. One day, it just might come and bite you, no matter how well you took care of it.

"Of course I'm sure," he snapped. "Why wouldn't I be? And why would you wonder about my relationship with Ginny Weasley?"

"I dunno," she mumbled. "I guess I'm just curious or something."

He gave her an odd look. "Okay," he shrugged. "Whatever. Anyway, I have to go. Snape's given a shitload of work… I expect your two tag-alongs will be here soon to ask you about it."

And he was right. Before she could call out to him, Harry and Ron sauntered in. "Hermione!" they burst out when they saw her. "We heard, naturally the whole school is talking about it, although no one knows for sure what happened. Was it an overdose of Xeniphat? Please tell me no. You couldn't be doing Xeniphat," Ron exclaimed. "I can't imagine you to be a drug addict."

"Please," Hermione quieted them, "I'm not a drug addict, silly. Someone fed me DX, a dangerous death eater drug; it's certainly not something you take by choice."

"Oh God. That's the worst of the rumors," Harry cried. "Are you okay?!"

"Yes, I'll be fine," Hermione reassured him. "I just have to take some time off to rest and recuperate."

"Hey Hermione," Ron's eyes suddenly narrowed, "Malfoy was leaving just as you came in. What was he doing in here?"

Hermione turned puce. "Um," she began intelligently. "He was telling me about Arithmancy homework. I suppose the professor told him to come tell me what it was."

Thankfully, Ron seemed to buy this as he didn't pursue the matter any further. But as her favorite boys droned on about Snape's favoritism or the stunt Dean had pulled in Charms that day, Hermione couldn't help but think about Ginny. Something wasn't right; it wasn't as straightforward as it seemed.

It was also a pain to think about telling Harry and Ron about Draco. The very thought made her nauseous.

But none of these small issues weighed out her fantastic breakthrough with Draco. She couldn't help thinking that she was chipping away at the block one piece at a time, and one day, she would be able to see the entire Draco, stripped of all his barriers.

She couldn't wait.

A/N: Hey guys! I had a burst of inspiration for the story so here's another chapter! Thank you for your awesome reviews. Remember, if you're going to leave your e-mail address for an e-mail update, please leave s p a c e s between the letters because otherwise it will cut off. Thanks again and I really hope you enjoyed this chapter (I kind of liked it).


	15. Truth and Lies

Purely Physical Ch 15

_Look at me, my depth perception must be off again_

_You got much closer than I thought you did_

_I'm in your reach_

- 'Rest in Pieces' by Saliva

It made her literally sick to think about how much she depended on him. When she didn't have anything pressing on her mind, all she thought about was that serpent, that evil, wonderful boy that had captivated her heart so thoroughly it was as if he'd poisoned her. Hermione hated how much she had been torn apart, how much she had changed because of the fact that she was in love with him.

The last few months had been incredibly different and unlike herself. She had run away, smoked, had sex, lied to her friends, and fallen in love with a guy that would probably hurt her in a heartbeat. Where was the old Hermione? Where was the girl that had fiercely made her way through the wizarding world trying to prove that she was a worthwhile witch? Where had that girl gone, what had he done to her?

But as much as Hermione wanted that girl back she knew that too much had happened for her to just erase this seventh year from her memory and start over again. It had been a month since Hermione had left the hospital wing from an overdose on DX and now life was pretty normal, if you could call her life normal, that is. Everything was going smoothly… everything except for everything, if that made sense. Because suddenly Draco was her everything. He was all she thought about (unless she was doing homework, that was perhaps the one time that she could control her ability to think about him; or rather, her inability to stop thinking about him). And unfortunately, in that month that she had been released from the hospital wing, she hadn't seen him more than twice.

The first time had been purely by accident; they ran into each other at Hogsmeade and decided to silently slip out and catch up on things while their classmates downed butterbeers at The Three Broomsticks. "Catch up on things", Hermione later found out (yeah right, she'd known the whole time) meant having sex at the edges of the Forbidden Forest in the same spot they'd done it before they'd run away a few months back.

The weather was warmer now so it was more comfortable, at least. And the sex had been nice, because afterwards she could cuddle against his pale, nearly luminescent skin, and pretend that he loved her too. Hermione liked that feeling of warmth, the feeling of having another person on top of you. It made her feel secure, and cared for, and appreciated and loved and all those things that many teenage girls crave and want but don't talk about. It was the first sex Hermione had had in a long time and although she felt like a wanton whore she realized she enjoyed it, especially because she loved the boy.

The boy who didn't love her back. In the last month, Hermione had decided to untangle herself from the fierce grip of love and delusion and see the situation for what it really was. She found that it was a lot cruder than she'd like. Right now she was basically in a non-exclusive, physical relationship in which the sex was hot because technically they weren't allowed to fuck each other. That was it. It was the bluntest, most painful way she could put it and somehow she liked thinking about it like that, masochistic as it was, because it gave her a better hold on reality.

The reality was that this wasn't love and this wasn't exclusive and this wasn't long term. Even if he hadn't been Draco, she rationalized, it probably still wouldn't have worked out because by nature, teenage relationships did not last. By nature, it was easier to remain commitment free during this period of your life and just play around. Just fuck around.

Well, Merlin have it, she was fucking around all right. Except she was only with one person, whereas he might even have four or five. Which brought her to another stomach-churning idea, one she had not devoted time to. Ginny.

Ginny had not brought up Draco again, although Hermione knew that Ginny remembered the comment she had made. Hermione herself had let it pass. In her heart however she was still terribly worried that there was something suspicious going on; most likely Ginny had a similar relationship with Draco that Hermione had. And if Ginny had this relationship, then what was the chance that other girls in other houses might have it too? And perhaps they all thought they were the only one, and all of them fancied themselves in love with the boy, and then all of them were going to get hurt in the end. The thought actually made Hermione feel slightly better, after all there was safety in numbers. She wouldn't be the only one who ended up with a broken heart.

- - - - - -

"I bloody hate school," Harry sighed as he sat down to his homework in the common room. "I'm sick of all this work! It's ridiculous. I don't know how you can manage, Hermione."

Hermione grinned at her friend. "It's really not that bad. Once you tell yourself, alright, Self, I am going to complete my homework, you can do it. It's all about believing in yourself."

"Have you considered writing a self-help book?" Ron snapped at her. "I do believe. I believe that I should get the bloody hell out of school considering I've already got a job lined up at the ministry as soon as I graduate!"

Hermione laughed but inwardly she was terrified of graduating. She kind of liked the safety of school, the routine that it set for you. After graduation, she was going to be on her own, and she wasn't ready to get a job, which was why she was definitely going to university. All her doubts from the previous semester had been erased. Slowly she was coming back to who she was, although she still had a lot of inner turmoil, as cheesy as it sounded. But she'd decided the best approach was just not to see Draco. After all, after graduation she wouldn't be seeing him anyway and that was only a few months away. She could make it. She could do it.

And then Ginny walked in.

Hermione's resolutions melted away. She had waited a month, a long month, a conflicted month to ask Ginny what she meant. But she couldn't wait any longer. She really had to know. And anyway, if the news was bad, it would give her incentive and motivation to get over that pig-headed Slytherin. Hermione was sure that if she found out that he really did have something with Ginny, then her love for him would simply evaporate.

"Hey, Gin, what's up?" Hermione called out to her friend (or rather, acquaintance, they weren't terribly close).

"Hey Hermione. I'm absolutely exhausted," Ginny plopped down into a chair. "It has been the longest week."

"Well, tomorrow is a Friday, so there's just a day more of class till the weekend."

"Weekends don't mean anything anymore! I have to spend them working. I hate it," Ginny moped. "I want to do something fun."

Hermione saw her chance. "I know it isn't exactly a game of Quidditch but you want to come take a walk with me? I just don't feel like working all of a sudden," she suggested.

"Hey!" Ron yelped. "Whatever happened to 'Self, I am going to complete my homework?'"

Hermione laughed. "I told Self to shut up. Let's go, Ginny."

Ginny and Hermione made their way out the stream of Gryffindors and into the more quiet and private area around the lake. Dusk settled around them, blurring Ginny's face to Hermione's view. Hermione blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the dimming light. "So how have you been?" Ginny asked pleasantly after they had walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

"I'm all right," Hermione replied guardedly. "And you?"

"Just excellent. This work load is just making my life wonderful," Ginny said sarcastically.

"Don't worry it gets better," Hermione reassured her friend. "I experienced it all last year."

"Yeah, but you're Hermione Granger," the younger girl reasoned. "You're an exception. You're… pretty much as perfect as it gets."

"Perfect!" Hermione sputtered. "Far from it. Ginny, you know what my year's been like. I've just… fucked up rather royally."

"Everyone makes mistakes. It's part of being human." Hermione wasn't sure, but Ginny's voice seemed to have a tinge of bitterness to it.

"Are you okay?" she asked tentatively. Perhaps bringing up Draco wasn't the best of ideas then… "Do you want to talk?"

"I don't know," Ginny mumbled as she kicked a pebble. "Ow. I stubbed my toe. But anyway, I don't know, I just, sometimes I turn to the worst things for stress relief."

"Me too," Hermione answered. "Merlin, me too. I ran away from school. Did you do that? I overdosed on some dangerous death eater drug. Did you do that?"

"I fucked Draco Malfoy," came her friend's response. "Did you do that?"

Hermione froze. It was as if for a second her heart simply stopped beating. She was speechless. She heard those four words in her head again, each one with a heavy chain of emphasis stamped onto it. I. Fucked. Draco. Malfoy. I. Fucked. Draco. Malfoy. Hermione was sure her face was turning white, she didn't feel right, the blood wasn't flowing right, she felt lightheaded…

"I did do that," she finally managed to whisper out. Her voice was hoarse and the pain, the unhappiness in it was palpable.

Ginny sighed. "I figured as much." Her voice was cracking. "Listen, you gotta know some stuff. You have to. But listen with an open mind. Before you judge me. Please."

Hermione almost could not bring herself to listen. She didn't want to hear it, didn't want to think of Draco's mouth on Ginny's, Draco's body intertwined with her smaller, prettier friend's, Ginny curled up in his arms after they were sated. The memories of her own times with Draco flew by, and in each memory Hermione replaced herself with images of Ginny. And it was fucking hurting and she wanted it to stop. Tears pinpricked her eyes but she wasn't going to let them fall. No.

"I don't want to hear about how you could do that when you knew that I was in love with him!" Hermione cried out.

"Wait, what!" It was Ginny's turn to look confused and hurt. "You're in love with him!"

"What do you think? I thought you were too. It was what I was going to ask you about."

"You want to know the story? The story is that I got depressed one night and slept with him! One time. And he said he never, ever wanted it to get out. And he told me that it meant nothing, okay? He said he did it because he was high, because he wasn't thinking straight. He said… he said he was in love with someone else."

Hermione ignored the last sentence because she didn't want to give herself any more false hopes. She was done with those, look where they got her. "What do you mean depressed?" she asked sharply.

"I mean I did some stuff I shouldn't have done," Ginny scowled. "I had a little too much firewhiskey. Whatever. Not like the seventh years don't guzzle the stuff down!"

"Yeah but a year gives you more maturity," Hermione lectured irritably. "I hope you didn't do it again because alcohol seriously impairs your judgment."

"Get off your high horse Hermione," Ginny snapped. "You slept with him sober."

With that the redhead spun on her heels and marched back towards the castle, leaving her friend (ex-friend? Hermione just didn't know) staring at her back. Hermione was caught up in this horrible, melodramatic, straight-out-of-a-soap situation and she didn't know what to do. She had slept with the same guy as her friend, and Ginny… young, impressionable, naïve Ginny, had fancied herself in love with him, because after all the naïve do tend to equate love with intimacy.

And then Hermione had a chilling thought. How much older was she than Ginny anyway? Only about a year. And wasn't she equally naïve? Okay, so maybe she slept with the guy more than once… but wasn't she equating intimacy with love, too? How much did she really know Draco? Not at all. She knew his body and she knew he liked it when she kissed him hard and she liked to figure him out but that was all signs of infatuation and lust. Maybe Hermione was just Ginny, except a Ginny that was too far along to realize that her love was misplaced, that it wasn't love at all.

Hermione's tears rose to the surface and spilled out, the salty liquid turning iridescent silver in the slivers of moonlight. She didn't know herself anymore, and she didn't know who her friends were, and even though she'd tried so hard to pull herself out of this ridiculous amount of drama, the fact remained that she was still hopelessly lost, and she needed out.

And if that meant having to deal with the Draco situation (something that Hermione tended to leave alone and let run its course), so be it. She could be brave. She could face him; she didn't care what he thought anymore. She didn't even know how she felt anymore, what with the Ginny thing and everything else.

It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted off her chest, and relief poured in. Even if it was temporary relief, it was so nice to not care what he thought. She didn't know how long it would last, but for right now, she sank into the grass and reveled in this new feeling. She closed her eyes, and decided once again to put everything on hold, and work things out at another time.

A/N: I'm aware it's been like seven months since I updated. I know, I am a huge, awful, terrible person but what can I say I have just had so much to do. Even now I really don't afford to be writing this considering I've been putting off college apps. But thank you for sticking with me, I'm going to try to find time. I appreciate everyone who read the chapter. Let me know what you think, I wonder if I will be able to step back into the groove of things. Thanks! oh and also i know there wasn't any draco/hermione interaction in this chapter. next chapter it'll come.

oh, by the way, if you want an e-mail update, please leave your e-mail in a review! remember to use spaces cuz otherwise it won't show up. thanks again!


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